Mother's Little Helper
by TheViewFromTheAfternoon
Summary: The first time I met Ted Shepard he told me we'd be together, always, that nothing would ever keep us apart. Now though, well now I know that it was just a foolish dream. Because nothing lasts forever. — The Shepard family, from the perspective of Mrs Shepard.
1. Chapter 1

**CHAPTER ONE**

 _September 1956._

Read the label, turn the bottle in my hand another couple of times.

Unscrew the lid, change my mind, put it back on again.

I don't know what the hell I'm doing, how long I've been sat here or whether this is even the right thing to do. Tighten up the lid and read the label one more time, the doctor's words from this morning ringing in my ears.

 _"Well, Mrs Shepard, it's entirely understandable for you to experience these problems, after everything that's happened."_

 _God, even he can't say it._

 _After the accident._

 _After my life fell apart overnight, and I was left struggling to bring up three children with no one else in the world who gives a damn about what happens to any of us._

 _After my husband died._

 _Just nod, go along with what he's saying. It ain't worth arguing about 'cause no one ever listens to me anyway. "And these pills? They can help me?"_

 _"Yes. They can help you with the anxiety, help you manage work and taking are of your children, get some balance back in your life after a difficult time for you."_

 _Difficult._

 _Fight the urge to laugh, 'cause difficult don't scrape the surface of how things are, don't come close to how I'm feeling as I listen to him talking at me._

First couple weeks, people were all over us, couldn't barely keep them out the house. Not now though. Aside from Carol from next door popping in everyday, there ain't no one who really cares if I'm coping. People just seem to think I should be moving on, getting on with things, that it's what he would want me to do. Like they even got the first clue what he would think or say. Just want to make it so they don't have to think about it no more, so I ain't their problem.

Trace my fingers over the letters on the label, decide to take a chance,'cause whatever they do it can't make things any worse than than they already are, and anyway I've wasted the very last of my spare cash on them so might as well use them now. Think about moving, getting a glass of water, but before I can do anything a voice breaks through the quiet, rouses me from my daydream.

Daydream. God I hate that word, there ain't nothing pleasant about my thoughts. More like being trapped in my worst nightmare with no way out.

"Happy Birthday, Ma."

Drag my eyes away from the small bottle in my hand, shove it deep into the pocket of my apron out of sight as I look up, see all of my children standing in the doorway of the kitchen. Tim's at the back, behind the other two, even though this group appearance is obviously down to his organising. There's that all too familiar, confident half-smile on his face as he whispers some instruction then shoves Curly a little in shoulder to make him head in my direction.

"We got you this, Mama."

"Thank you, sweetie," I smile, hugging my smallest boy. My favourite boy. But God, Ma always tells me I shouldn't have a favourite and remembering that just sets me to feeling bad again. Not that it takes much for my mother to have that effect on me, resolve every time we speak that the next time I won't let her get to me. Never quite works though. Push down that thought and try to smile as I look at the small gift my son has thrust eagerly into my hands.

Drop it on the table like my hands are burning.

"What's wrong, Mama?"

"Nothing, Curly," I lie.

"Then why d'you drop it?" Tim demands, Angela clinging to his hand while she watches me silently from his side. God, but she loves that boy, would do most anything if he's the one asking. But then surely that's a good thing, I shouldn't be hurt that they got a good relationship. Used to be like that for me and my brothers when they were still around here to take care of me. Should be pleased they get on good, not use it as another reason to make myself feel like even more of a failure than I do already.

"Just slipped out my hand, is all."

Only it's clear from his expression that he don't believe me. Wish he could leave things be this one time, just let it go, not try to constantly second guess me. Look over at him and it may as well be his father standing there. The rest the world might only see me when they look at the three of them, same dark hair, lean build. Not me though. Especially when I look at Tim because all I see right now are his father's dark blue eyes staring right back at me, that same expression on his face, the one that cuts right through me to the heart of things, that don't let me hide anything from him.

"But I thought it was your favourite, ain't it what dad always used to get for you?" Despite his efforts to sound like he don't care, I can hear the hurt in his voice, that yet again he's tried to do something for me and it still ain't quite good enough. But him voicing that reminder of Ted Shepard out loud sends me well and truly over the edge. Need to think about something else, anything else but Ted right now. Before my head fills with all those memories of happier times, different birthdays, all the things we'll never ever get to do again.

"Where did you get the money from to buy this?"

He shrugs, don't say nothing and I can feel the tension growing in me, showing in my voice when I continue to quiz him.

"I asked you a question, Timothy."

Stands there, silently staring at me, like he already knows what's coming, almost as though he wants me to get it over with and just yell at him. And this assumption, that he already knows how I'll react, well it just pushes me even closer to losing the last bit of control I got left.

"Curly, take Angela and go play in your room until bedtime."

"But-"

"Do as I tell you, sweetie."

It seems to take an age for them to leave, Curly trying to take Angela, her resisting until Tim tells her it will all be fine and he'll soon be there too.

Barely manage to hold it together until they've left the room. "I'll ask you again where you got this from, because I know you don't have no money Timothy."

"Then why bother asking me?"

"I'll ask you one last time. Did you steal this?"

He glares at me now, shoves his hands in his pockets, still don't give me an answer to my question, just shrugs. "Was only trying to do something nice, make you happy again."

And he turns and strolls out the room, hear his footsteps gather speed once he's out of my sight and the front door rattle on its hinges as he runs out the house, while I sink back down in my chair, tears falling from my eyes as I wonder why everything I do ends up in such a damn mess.

xxxxxx

"Evening, honey! Sorry I'm late, you ready for work?"

My neighbour, Carol, here to make sure they go to bed, while I go work the evening shift in some bar across town, hope to get enough in tips to pay a little extra off the rent I'm already behind on this week. Funny how quick you can burn through money, that the 'payout' from his employer over at the factory that seemed real generous don't even manage to last me three full months before I'm back to struggling over money again.

Tell her most days she don't need to keep doing this, that Tim is plenty old enough to take care of the other two, but she always dismisses that. Says she likes it, now her own kids are grown and left home, that she enjoys watching them.

Wipe away my tears, grateful she don't mention what a mess I must look, although I guess since it happened, since Ted... since that day...well I guess she's got used to seeing me in a state more often than not.

"Seen Tim outside."

"Yeah? Whereabouts?"

"Down the park at the corner, with a few other boys. What time is he meant to be home?"

Don't answer that, 'cause it ain't like we exactly arranged anything, not that he'd likely listen to me anyway. "He better not be doing anythin-"

"Glory, Jean, the boy is just with his friends. Though I'm surprised he went tonight." She pauses, rummaging in her bag for something. "Here, I got you this." She shoves a small parcel in my hands, watches as I open it. "Sorry it ain't much. So, did you like your other present? What did they get you in the end?"

Wonder exactly what's been going on, realise I'm on the edge again that I've made some terrible mistake, and I'm, close to losing what little control of my emotions that I got left. How the hell is it possible for one person to be shedding this many tears, again?

Carol turns, takes one look at me, and hugs me, "Oh Lord, Jeannie, what's happened?"

"How do you know about that?"

"Tim, last week, said they wanted to get you something and asked me to help them do it. Paid him to do some chores at the weekend. Why?"

Can't bring myself to look at her, but she don't let it lie, continues to push me in my silence, as I do all I can to avoid her gaze.

"Jean, what's wrong? What's happened?"

xxxxxx

Reckon I must officially be the most unfriendly barmaid in the whole of Tulsa.

Get a talking to from my manager tonight, tells me that he appreciates that things have 'been rough' for me. Like he's got the first clue. Tells me he wants to keep me on but if he gets another complaint then he'll be letting me go, that I should go home, sort myself out some, 'cause honestly, I'm losing him more customers by being there like I am right now.

By the time I make it back the house is finally silent, but I don't want to go to bed. Barely go in there anyways, since he's been gone. I'll sleep on the couch most probably, for all the good it'll do me.

Silence don't stop my mind from working overtime, though. Thinking about him. It's always him. Ted Shepard, the love of my life, the man I thought, dreamed, believed that I would spend the rest my days with.

Only maybe I should've listened to my Ma about him. Not got involved in the first place. Not married him. 'Cause here I am all alone with three kids to try to take care of and no one in the world who really gives a damn about what happens to me.

I don't remember when I last had a proper night's sleep.

Not this month anyways, or last month, not at all since he's been gone.

Seventy-three days.

And I miss him more now than ever. Least Angela's not much more than a baby, so pretty soon she'll forget, won't know no different and my baby boy. Well he's only six and he don't ever ask me no awkward questions.

But Tim. Well, ain't no way he's gonna forget him easy, not when he was such a daddy's boy, his father's shadow. Ain't gonna let me forget either. 'Cause he's got that same look about him, that same determination in his manner that makes me almost wish he wasn't here to remind of the man I miss so damn much. And then I shake myself. He's just a kid. A kid who ain't even quite ten yet, who's hurting just as much as me in his own way. And I know I don't really mean that 'cause I couldn't bear to lose him too.

Could do with some sleep right now though. Look at the small jar in front of me. Maybe it's time to stop being so stubborn, take the doctors advice. I mean, he has to know what he's talking about, all them years in college and all.

Take the lid off the jar, tip one the pills in my hand and study it. Small and round, yellow. Decide that something's got to give, 'cause there ain't no way I'm gonna make it if things go on as they are.

* * *

A/N: As always 'The Outsiders' and the Shepard family belongs to SE Hinton, title and story inspired by the song of the same name. This is something I've been thinking about doing for quite a while - looking at how the Shepard family became the way they are - so any feedback would be greatly appreciated. Slightly edited re Stefanie's feedback on terminology - thank you, it completely slipped me by :)


	2. Chapter 2

**CHAPTER TWO**

 _January 1946_.

Twist my handkerchief round in my hands, pretend I can't see my mother glaring at me over the top the newspaper or hear her irritated sighs.

Despite what she thinks I am trying to sit still, but the waiting around is really getting to me now.

Surely he should have been here by now, thought the bus got in at two. I swapped my afternoon off from work with Jane especially so I could be there to meet him when he arrived. Except my mother wouldn't let me. Told me that I had to come straight home, that there was absolutely no way Anthony would want me at the bus station, causing a scene, showing him up.

I don't really believe her... I don't think. I think it's kind of miserable that there'll be no one there to meet him when he gets back into town. Decided it wasn't worth the argument in the end though. Because I wouldn't have won anyway. And I don't want anything, not even her, to spoil the day my brother finally comes home.

Give up on my attempts to sit still, so that now I'm kneeling on the couch, leaning over the back and peering out the window. Wish daddy had got off work early, because at least with him here, it wouldn't be just me she was bothering. Get up, stand close up to the glass, my breath misting up the window pane a little as I fidget with the curtains, try to carry on ignoring my mother as she snaps at me to sit back down and stop being so unladylike.

But despite my excitement can't help feeling more than a little sad, that it's only Tony who'll be walking in through the door. That our older brother isn't going to be with him, the two of them laughing and joking around, teasing me about something.

"Jean Bernadette Simpson. I am sick of having to look at you over there, constantly hopping around. Go make yourself useful, there's food to be prepared and that cake won't bake itself."

Dig my nails into the palm of my hand, because it's not fair, I want to be here, waiting when he arrives, see him as soon as he gets here. "But—"

"Don't you dare answer me back. Go do it now being as it seems like it's too much to ask for you to keep still for five minutes. You always have been too high strung, Jean. Go calm yourself down and do something useful, you're to stay in the kitchen until I tell you otherwise."

More than hour later and I'm still in the kitchen, poking at what might possibly be the worst cake in all history. I'm trying to decide if it's likely to even be edible, let alone taste any good, when he finally walks in and sweeps me up in a bear hug, ruffles his hand through my hair as he greets me, while Ma is on his heels already talking at him nineteen to the dozen.

"Ma, just listen a minute will you?" Then he turns and points to the guy behind him, dressed up exactly the same in his army uniform with a bag slung over his shoulder. Can't help thinking that both of them look so smart and handsome, like something out of a movie.

Ma frowns, but I guess she isn't going to shout at him, not this first day, anyway. "Who's this, Anthony?"

"Hope you don't mind, but I said my buddy could stop with us a night or two, 'til he finds a place to stay."

I expect her to lose it at this, would if it was me asking, that's for sure. She always has had a blind spot when it comes to my brother, though, lets him get away with pretty much everything. He just stands there and grins at her, until she finally cracks, smiles back at him, "Well, alright, but only for a couple of days."

And his friend, who's been quiet all this time, watching and waiting behind Tony, steps forward into the room and extends his hand to my mother, "Pleased to meet you, ma'am, the names Ted, Ted Shepard."

xxxxxx

Can't believe that Tony actually persuaded Ma to let me come out with them tonight. I'm never usually allowed to go the dances. She says I'm not old enough, or it ain't proper or some other excuse. Can't wait until I turn eighteen later this year, when she can't stop me from doing what I want.

It's as exciting as I imagined. All the girls look real pretty, got some real nice dresses. Aside from me anyways. I mean I wore the best dress I got, but it sure isn't anything special, not like some of these other girls are wearing. Ma says fancy clothes are a waste of money, that they aren't something for nice girls to concern themselves over. Smile as I see my handsome brother charm some real pretty girl into dancing with him. Makes me feel proud to be his sister, reckon he's about the most handsome guy here.

Well, apart from his friend anyway.

Smile over the top of my glass, at the couples dancing. Don't expect anyone will ask me, but I don't mind. Not really, because at least I got to come here. Seems like Ted ain't so much of a dancer as my brother though, see him turn down some girl as he crosses back across the dancefloor, glasses in his hand, then sits beside me.

"Here you go, Jean." Places another drink in front of me, smiles.

"Thank you." Return his smile, but as we talk a little more I can't help thinking he looks real uncomfortable, like he's got something on his mind, like he'd rather be someplace else. "You don't have to stay here, if you don't want to. I'll be fine by myself if you want to go talk with one of them girls or dance or something."

"Hell, why would I want to do that, when I got the prettiest girl in the room sitting right next to me?"

Glory, but my face must be bright red, certainly feels like it's burning up, anyway. Look away, think he must be teasing me, but when I do eventually look at him again he looks real serious, ain't laughing at me or nothing. Instead he stands up, holds out an arm.

"You care to dance with me, Jean?"

xxxxxx

It's real early and there's no one else up, but I could barely sleep. I reckon last night was about the best night of my life. Decide to try to keep myself busy, make some coffee, one less thing for Ma to complain about anyway.

"Hey, kid."

"Oh, morning, Tony."

"You okay?"

I smile at him. "Yeah, you want some coffee?"

"Sure. So you have a good night, Jeannie? Figured you and Ted might hit it off. He's a good guy, wouldn't let him near you if he wasn't." Feel myself blushing again, can't bring myself to look at my brother as I think about last night, how I spent the whole of the rest of the evening just dancing and laughing, with Ted. How he kissed me, just a little, and told me I was beautiful.

"You ain't mad at me? You're not going to tell Ma are you?"

Only Tony just laughs at me. "Damn it, Jean, you shouldn't let her get to you like she does; you ain't a little kid no more. You don't need to do everything she tells you - or tell her everything you do."

"Yeah, it's easy for you to say, you don't have to live here, have her lecturing at you every day, checking up on you."

Pouring the coffee, I hand him a cup.

"Listen, Jean. I haven't told Ma yet but I'm not staying at home. I'm here on leave for a couple of weeks then I'm going back, I've decided to stick with the army a bit longer."

"But—"

"It'll be alright."

I'm not convinced, but as he smiles it's hard to doubt him. "I'll miss you. When are you both heading back?"

Shakes his head. "No, Ted ain't coming with me. Reckon if he can find himself a job then he'd be real keen to stay right here in town, for some reason." Grins at me again.

Find myself returning his smile this time. Reckon I might like that too.

xxxxxx

 _June 1946._

"What's bothering you, Jean?" Ted pulls me into his arms, kisses me, then steps back, leans against the kitchen table.

I don't know what to do, I know I got to tell someone but there is no way I can talk to Ma about this. Can't bring myself to ask daddy what to do, he'd most likely only tell Ma anyway, tell her to deal with me. And I haven't exactly got many friends that I'd want to share something this important with.

Wish my brother was here. He would know what to do, he always knows how to handle everything. Tony would fix things for me, make everything alright instead of just making me feel like I can't do one thing right.

So I suppose I just need to get it over with and tell Ted before anyone else gets home. Won't be surprised if he doesn't ever talk to me again though, for being so stupid as to get myself in this mess.

"I… I ain't been feeling so good, Ted."

"Yeah? You coming down with something?" Steps a little closer, brushes my hair back from my face then rests his hand gently on my forehead.

Wish it was that simple, that it was only a fever or a cold or something. Shake my head, can't bring myself to look at him, can feel the panic rising in me. I know he isn't going to want to know me after this, that I was foolish to think this could ever last. When my brother left he persuaded Ma to let Ted rent his room, take him in as a lodger for a few weeks. Weeks that have somehow turned into months. And up until now that's been pretty perfect. Gave us a chance to spend a little more time together when Ma wasn't around, without her getting suspicious, get to know each other better. A whole lot better. Except now, well now I'm thinking that I should have thought a little more about what I was doing instead of being so stupid.

"No." Feel the tears stinging in my eyes. I been ignoring this long enough, but I know I can't for much longer, that soon enough it'll be obvious to everyone what a great disappointment I am to my mother.

"Then what's the matter?"

"I…I think.. I'm pregnant, Ted." My voice barely more than a whisper as I stutter over the words, tears falling freely now. Look at him, but he don't say nothing so I carry on, gabbling and apologising, wondering if I sound as messed up as I'm feeling right now. "I'm sorry. I guess you don't want to know me no more, it's just I'm so frightened. What's my Ma going to say, she'll be so mad. I don't want her to send me away."

"Damn it, Jean. Give me a little more credit than that, will you?" Places his hand under my chin, lifts my face so I'm looking at him. "Told you before that you're the only girl I want. This don't change nothing. Apart from maybe how soon I marry you."

And God, I _want_ to believe him so badly.

Let him hug me, listen as he whispers how much he loves me, how he'll never ever leave me, or our baby. How this ain't my mother's choice to make and how we'll be happy together, our own little family.

How he'll take care of us forever.

* * *

 **A/N:** Well, I hope you liked it – just wanted to go back to the beginning to give a little background on Ted  & Jean – the structure of the story will continue to switch backwards and forwards between the two timelines, looking at some key events in Jean's life so there will be more chapters that involve Tim/Curly/Angela, I promise :)


	3. Chapter 3

**CHAPTER THREE**

 _April 1960._

"Maybe this is what he needs, to finally get the message and quit all this bad behaviour?" Suggests the police officer who's standing next to me, while I try—and fail—to hold back my tears as I finally make it out the room and into the corridor.

"Yeah?" I struggle to get the words out. "Do you know many boys who sort themselves out after reformatory? Always thought they came back from there worse, not better. Seemed that way when I was in school anyways."

Cooper has the good grace not to lie to me at least, just hands me a handkerchief and smiles a little. "Well, you never know, there's a first time for everything. And at least you won't have to worry about where he is for a few weeks."

Not worry about him. If only. Seems like all I do is worry about things.

Worry whether Tim's in trouble again, how Curly's desperate to be in it with him and end up down here too. Whether I can afford new clothes for Angela because she's shot up again and I can't exactly send her to school in the boys hand me downs without the neighbours talking and pointing and criticising me. Then on top of all that I've still got to figure out where the money's coming from to pay this month's rent when I still owe most of last month's too, or if I can even afford to feed the four of us this week.

Tim might be running around getting into more and worse bother every time, never tell me where he's going or what time he'll be back no more, but at least if he's home there's someone else who's helping me, takes care of things.

Now I'm waiting. I've spent the past hour listening to all the talk on what he done this time, and although it's inevitable after what they are saying he's done that they're finally going to send him there, I'm hoping at least it won't be for too long. Cooper though, well he's told me it all depends on who's running the hearing, making the decisions. Could be anything from six weeks to six months depending on how it goes.

For a cop, Cooper's a good enough guy. Remember he used to buddy around with my brothers back in high school, has been the beat cop for our neighbourhood for as long as I can remember. Ted didn't much care for him, probably paid too much attention to all his shady dealings, his many friends, for my husband's liking. Don't know that I trust him either. But then he always tries to help the boys first, talk to the kids instead of just haul them down the station.

Just wish that Tim had maybe listened a little harder to him that first time, back in the spring of '57, that if he had then maybe we wouldn't be standing here today.

xxxxxx

 _May 1957._

 _The noise makes me flinch. Fear creeps into the pit of my stomach, pins me to my chair, because unexpected visitors don't ever mean nothing but trouble._

 _I just know that whoever is there hammering on the door at this time of night sure isn't here for no social call. Just like any time the telephone rings these days. Maybe it'd be a blessing if the phone company do go through with their threats and cut me off next time I get behind on the bills, because I don't ever seem to get any good news these days._

 _Maybe if I ignore it, it'll stop, they'll leave. Stupid idea, I know, because a couple of seconds later, an even louder, more impatient knocking echoes thought the house._

 _It really is tempting to just ignore it though, to pretend like there's no one home. Don't know that I can cope with no more bad news, don't want to have to deal with it._

 _Only they don't go, the knocking just continues, louder again and more frequent. If it carries on much longer it's just going to wake my babies, and I don't know that I want to handle the crying or the questions from them too._

 _Force myself to stand, walk along the narrow hall, wondering all the while who the hell it is I can see silhouetted through the frosted glass of the door. Whoever I thought though, well I never expected to see him standing there alongside the tall, uniformed man._

 _"Mrs Shepard?"_

 _Nod, unable to find any words, 'cause the sight before me ain't possible, I don't understand._

 _"This your boy?"_

 _Nod again, finally manage to stutter out a reply. "But how?" Last I'd seen of Tim was two hours ago, when he'd told me he was going to bed, and truth be told I'd been grateful for the peace in the house for once, let them all be, taking the silence for the three of them actually all sleeping. "What's going on? Why aren't you in in your room?"_

 _He shrugs at me, don't even have the good grace to look at all embarrassed that he's standing there on the doorstep next to some cop who probably thinks I'm the world's most lousy mother. Instead he just shoves his hands deeper in his pockets and scowls at me, until, stupidly it's me left feeling uncomfortable. Like I'm the one who's done something wrong._

 _"Go on inside, son. I need to talk to your mother for a moment."_

 _Watch, still lost for words, as Tim just nods at him then saunters off down the hall and heads into the kitchen like there isn't a thing wrong with this situation, while the cop starts explaining to me._

 _"Three boys were caught breaking in to a liquor store earlier this evening."_

 _"A liquor store? But he's only ten years old."_

 _"Yes ma'am, the other boys were older, most likely put him up to it, you know what boys are like, can't lose face to their friends." And I swear the guy is trying not to smile, like maybe he don't even think it's all that bad, like he's remembering doing something similar when he was a kid._

 _"So what happens to him now?"_

 _"Nothing."_

 _"Nothing?!" Can't believe he's just said that, think I've heard him wrong._

 _"I've decided to let him off with a warning this time on account of his age... and his, um, circumstances. Next time, though, he won't be so lucky, so maybe you need to make sure he understands that?" He pauses, looks awkwardly at me before continuing, "There anyone else around that can have a word? Show him some discipline? No men in the family? Might help, to keep him in line I mean. He might listen to them if you're having problems getting through to him, boys that age always think they know everything."_

 _Fold my arms and frown at him, don't need him judging me, not on top of my mother, ain't gonna prove her right that I can't manage, give her the satisfaction of seeing me asking her or daddy for help. Already got half the neighbourhood telling me that maybe I ought to think about getting remarried, that the kids need a man around. Don't need some stranger telling me the same._

 _"No, there ain't no one. Why, are you saying I can't look after my family? He's not a bad boy, not really. I'll make sure he don't get in no more trouble."_

 _"Yes ma'am, that ain't what I'm saying. He's a smart kid, that one. Just a little, um, misguided right now. Just if you do need someone to talk to him, well this is my beat so, well, the name's Cooper, just ask at the station if you think I can help."_

 _"Yes, I know who you are, Officer Cooper, but I can handle my own son. Thank you for your time, now I need to go speak with him, I think, not just stand here chatting with you."_

xxxxxx

"You want to go talk to him, before he leaves?"

Shake my head. "No."

"No?" He sounds surprised, although I don't understand why, he must have seen enough of our family this past couple of years to know things aren't exactly easy between the two of us.

"No. It'd be pointless. Tim won't want to talk to me, and it's not like he's ever listened to a word I say before so he sure as hell ain't likely to start now, is he?"

"You sure? I reckon it'd mean a lot to him, just to see you, he's got to be frightened."

And I turn my attention back to the hustle of people here in the entrance to the police station, wipe away the last tears from my eyes and make like I don't even care about my boy. "No, he'll do better without me fussing over him. He ain't ever really needed me anyway, don't think he's ever been frightened of one thing his whole life. Besides, I don't have time, I've got to go fetch Angela from school."

xxxxxx

 _Push the door shut, and turn towards the kitchen, fill a glass of water and try not to let it show how much my hands are still shaking, think about taking another of my pills as I try to decide what on earth to say. I know I've already taken one tonight, but glory it ain't doing nothing to stop me feeling like the world is spinning out of control, only I can't seem to even do that, can't seem to pop the lid off of the jar._

 _"You want me to do that?" He asks, taking it from me, before I can answer. And it seems that's all it takes for me to snap. Just yell at him, curse and call him all sorts of names while he stands there, a blank expression on his face that makes me wonder if he's even listening to a word I'm saying, or maybe he's heard it all so many times lately that he don't need to listen no more._

 _"What the hell were you thinking, boy? Stealing from a store like that?"_

 _"Didn't seem to bother you none last week, didn't see you complaining then."_

 _Feel my face flush, because he's right. For weeks and weeks I've been turning a blind eye to the fact Curly's eating candy he can't possibly have bought or that there's been packets of cookies, tins of soup that I know I haven't bought, the odd dollar or two lying around on the table when we need a little money for food, the fact that he always seems to have cigarettes in his pocket. Things seem to have got harder and harder to manage, since the money ran out and I got my hours cut at the bar. Since I had to start cleaning rich folk's houses in the daytime when the boys are in school for barely any pay at all considering the time it takes me, so that I don't even scrape enough to cover the bills some months._

 _Only I can't admit that, can't let him feel like I'm losing control, that he's right. Resort to yelling again instead._

 _"What, so you want to get sent to a boy's home or something? 'Cause that's what they'll do, next time you get caught, doing something so damn stupid."_

 _He just shrugs at me though, looks at me like I'm the kid, not him. "Guess I'll just have to make sure I don't get caught then." And on that he's apparently thinking we're done, starts to stroll away._

 _"Don't you damn well walk away from me, Timothy."_

 _"Why? What you gonna do, Ma? You gonna stop me?"_

 _And I ain't proud of what I do next, as I grab him by the shoulder, raise my hand to my boy in anger for the first time. Not when I see the shock, the hatred in his eyes, despite his best efforts to make it seem like he don't care. Makes me almost want to stop him, call him back, tell him I don't mean it, that he's a good boy really, that I don't know how I'd cope without him, that I love him._

 _Tell myself as he walks away from me that he's had plenty worse from his father in the past when he'd misbehaved. That he deserves it for talking back and for getting caught up in something that gets him brought home by the cops._

xxxxxx

Should have known better than to think that meeting with Cooper would be a one off.

Couple of months later, he's calling up asking me to come collect Tim from the station. Few months after that he's ringing again, saying he'll keep him in the cells over night, see if it knocks some sense into him.

And I'd been fool enough to hope it had worked, until a couple of days ago anyway.

I mean, I'm not dumb enough to think Tim's stopped all the thieving and fighting, can't miss the fact that these days he isn't the little kid following the other boys' lead. These days he's the one with the ideas that his buddies all look to, the leader, the one that Curly is just desperate to spend time with. So like his father that some days it terrifies me. No, really I'd just been relieved that he mostly kept it off of my radar, so I could at least pretend everything was alright.

I'm heading down the street, but I can barely see through the tears, I feel so alone. Try to ignore that nagging worry, the fear that he's feeling the exact same way right now as they drive him across town to that terrible, horrible place.

Three months, how can they possibly send him away for that long? How on earth will Curly and Angela get by without him, how am I gonna explain to them that their brother ain't coming home tonight or tomorrow or even next week?

Maybe I should have listened to Carol. The girls at work, hell just about everyone I know seems to have the same opinion. Perhaps it really is time for me to move on, forget Ted and find someone who'll look after us. All I know is that it ain't fair to be relying on a thirteen year old to solve all our problems. Problems that I got no clue how to deal with myself most of the time.

So maybe now is the time to finally think about changing that, make things better for all of us before it's too late.

* * *

 **A/N:** Well, I know it's been a while, but this one's been quite troublesome to get sorted. Hope it flows ok and makes some kind of sense? ;)


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N:** Many thanks to everyone who's been reading and reviewing. Sorry it's been a while…

* * *

 **CHAPTER FOUR**

 _August 1951.  
_

"Curly, come sit down next to Tim."

Angela is crying. Curly is standing there, grizzling, in the doorway. Looks like he could start up bawling at any minute too. Both of them are most likely hungry, but I've only got one pair of hands and I'm desperately try to prepare her a bottle before she gets even more upset.

"Tim, honey, share your toast with your brother, pour him some milk."

He scowls at me, although at least he doesn't argue. He just pushes his own plate across the table then stands up, heads to the fridge. Then once he's placed the cup in front of his brother he turns as though to head out of the back door towards the yard.

"Where're you going?"

He shrugs, "Outside. Don't wanna be with all these babies crying."

I know how he feels. Angela is barely a couple of months old while Curly's not even eighteen months yet and I seem to live in a world of chaos. Every day is the same - nappies and bottles and laundry; screaming and crying and not a moment of peace for myself. No real help from anybody.

"Not yet. Sit back down and help your brother please."

Things are so different to when we were first married, or even when we just had Tim. But now, it's just a nightmare half the time being stuck here with two babies so close together and Tim not even five yet. And that's before Ted makes things even worse, getting on at me and moaning day in day out about the noise or the state of the place or something else I done wrong. Like it ain't nothing at all to do with him.

Can hear his footsteps now. Can feel myself getting more anxious as I wonder what he'll have to say about it all this time around.

"Damn it, Jean. It's a Sunday morning. Can't a guy have a little peace on his day off, catch up on his sleep? Some of us have been working hard all damn week. So I ought to be able to relax and enjoy my weekend a little, don't you think?"

"Working? Is that what you call it? Running jobs for that…that man." Ted's had a string of jobs since we got married. Don't seem able to stick at any of them very long. And now. Well, I don't think that I want to know too much about what he does, how he makes people pay up. Debt collector is what he calls himself. Only it's collecting money from people a little too much like us, for some no-good lowlife loan shark.

"Well it keeps a roof over your head and food on the table, sweetheart. Don't see you complaining about that. But if you don't damn well like it, you know what your options are. Go crawling back to your mother anytime you like."

God no. Would rather walk over hot coals than admit to her that my life ain't perfect. Rock Angela a little in my arms as she finally takes the bottle, quietens down. "Sorry. I'm sorry, Ted. I don't mean it. They're hungry is all."

"What? And that comes as a surprise to you does it? Couldn't fucking organise yourself enough to feed them in time?"

Can see Curly's bottom lip trembling at his father's raised voice and pray he don't cry, that he don't make things worse. Seems my baby has a knack of getting under his daddy's skin. Ted's forever telling me I mollycoddle him, that I'm gonna make him soft. But he's only little and I don't treat him no different than I did Tim. Least I don't think I do. Out the corner of my eye I spot Tim take his brother's hand and squeeze it under the table, hope him being there is enough to calm down Curly.

Find myself snapping back at Ted before I can stop myself. "Well maybe if you came home at a reasonable hour instead of spending all your time in a bar then you would get some sleep."

He grabs me by the arm, his face close to mine, and all I can think of is whether he's gonna hurt Angela. Don't care about me, just my babies.

"Maybe I would spend more time here. If there was anything here worth coming home for. If I had a proper wife." He trails his hand across the front of my dress, so I know exactly what he's getting at.

Selfish bastard.

Like he don't understand how hard all this is, how exhausted I am so that the last thing on my mind right now has been anything like that. Still find myself wanting to apologise, make peace between us. Except before I can say anything, he speaks again.

"Man needs to unwind after a hard week. And if there ain't no one at home willing to help him, well, is it any wonder if he might start looking elsewhere?"

Can still smell the booze on him from last night as he leans in a little closer to me.

But God. Is he saying what I think he means? Or is it simply a threat, to get me to do what he wants?

Only whatever, I can't risk it. I couldn't cope on my own. Couldn't bear it if he left me, if there was someone else and everyone knew and was laughing and gossiping about it behind my back. So I do the one thing I can think of, lean in and whisper my suggestion to him.

I dont say anything more as I settle Angela in the pram in the corner of the kitchen, just watch as Ted grins at me then turns to the boys.

"Tim, go take your brother in the sitting room, you boys play."

"But-"

"Just do it, okay? Your Ma and me need to go have a grown up conversation. So you boys stay in there, keep busy. You only come out if the baby cries. Understand?"

"But what if—"

" _Only_ if she cries. And _if_ she does, then _you_ take care of her. "Tim frowns, looks like he might argue. "If you can do that, I'll give you a dime, and I'll take you out with me later."

"Just me? Not him as well?"

"Yeah, son. Just you. Now get going." Ted grins at him, hurries the boys out the room and then pulls me by the hand towards our bedroom while I wonder when I became so desperate that I'd do near enough anything to keep a man who don't even seem to treat me well no more. When I gave up believing I deserved anything good in my life, or if I ever truly believed that in the first place.

xxxxxx

Later, it seems he's forgotten his harsh words of earlier so I do my best to push away all my negative thoughts too. Instead he lies here beside me with his hands still on my body while he whispers that he loves me, then tells me that he's a lucky man to have such a beautiful wife and family.

And I try real hard not to question it, to just believe him, to be happy. Because he wouldn't say he loves me, not if he didn't mean it.

Tell myself that Ted loves me and it's only natural to argue sometimes. Everyone does when they are married. Lord knows Ma always has something to say to Daddy when she don't agree with something. And our neighbours at the old place, Mr and Mrs Johnson. Well they must have been more than sixty and barely a day went by without the two of 'em cussing at each other about something.

When the children are a little older, when they are all in school. Then it'll get easier, I know it will. It has to.

And I know I still love Ted as much as the day we first met, or the day we got married. I will always love him, no matter what.


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N:** Thanks to everyone who's been reading and reviewing; so I finally got another chapter sorted...

* * *

 **C** **HAPTER FIVE**

 _June 1960_

The place is packed, only as I load the tray with dirty glasses I can't help from wishing that they'd all go home, then I could finish tidying up and get out of here myself. The thought of being in my own safe little space gets more and more inviting, harder to leave behind every day.

Only I've got to be here.

'Cause it's another month at least until Tim gets home and there's no one else who's gonna give me any help.

"Well hello there, darling."

Some heavy set guy who's clearly had way too many to drink already is getting a little over-friendly, his hand on my ass as I lean over the table to reach the glasses. Nothing unusual for a Friday night in this place. The one shift of the week they still give me with any regularity on account of the place being so damn busy with guys desperate to waste their wages as soon as the cash is in their pocket. I'm on the verge of snapping, saying something about exactly what I think of him and where he's putting his damn hands, even if it will likely get me in more trouble with the boss. Only it turns out I don't have to, 'cause his friend speaks up instead.

"Ah, come on Jim, leave her be. Ain't like she's gonna be interested in an old drunk like you anyway."

And as the rest of them laugh at him, he actually doesn't argue. Instead he joins in their laughter while muttering something about it not being worth the trouble with his wife anyway, while I take the opportunity to retreat to safety back behind the bar, start washing the glasses.

It's barely five minutes later that I realise I'm not alone anymore, the guy's friend has got up from the table and is standing there staring at me and I feel I ought to say something.

"Thank you—for just now, I mean."

He grins at me, and I realise I recognise him, that he's here most weeks, one of the regular Friday night crowd, Henry or Harold or something, I ain't exactly sure.

"My pleasure sweetheart." He grins at me. "It's Jean ain't it?"

"Um yeah."

And I guess my surprise at him using my name must be written all over my face because he chuckles a little to himself. Although maybe it shouldn't be a surprise, if he's a regular, he probably knows the names of all the girls who work here.

"Name's Harry, Harry Locke. I knew your husband, worked with him at the lumber yard." Pauses, takes a swig of his drink as the tears start to sting at the back of my eyes and I really hope I don't start bawling here. I've been holding it together better these past few months but I reckon that'd still be the last straw for Marty. I'd definitely be fired for sure. "Shame what happened. He was a good man."

"Yeah, he was."

"So how about I buy you a drink, in honour of an old friend?"

I'm sceptical, don't ever remember Ted mentioning a Harry. Least not as one of his friends. Although by that stage he never told me very much at all about where he was going or who he spent his time with—and I'd come to think I was better off not knowing anyways. Find myself making my excuses. "Sorry, we ain't allowed to drink while we're working. But thank you." Still, even if I ain't sure if I trust him, at least that's the truth and I don't have to offend the man after he stuck up for me to his buddy.

xxxxxx

Midnight finally arrives and I'm free to leave. As I step out into the cool night I shiver a little, and not just from the cold—it's partly 'cause he's standing out there, a cigarette in his hand, grinning at me.

"Well, ain't this good timing? Surely you ain't walking on your own Jean?"

I shrug. Walking don't ever bother me, it's not like I can afford to put fuel in Ted's old junker of a car anyway, need to keep as much of my pay as possible for more important things. "Won't Mrs Locke have something to say about you walking women home?" I ask.

Only he just laughs at that. "Honey, there ain't no Mrs Locke, least not at the moment." Flashes me a smile and offers me his arm.

And before I can talk myself out of it I find myself agreeing. Don't have the energy for a scene right now, and there's a small voice in the back of my head telling me that it _is_ kind of flattering.

Harry talks and laughs, pays me compliments and smiles at me the whole way home. Maybe he is just a nice guy and it is nice getting the attention after such a long time. Finally, we stop outside my front door, saying our goodbyes, and before I realise what's happening he's kissing me, in a way I haven't been kissed in so long. Find myself wishing, wanting, needing more. So much so that I'm relieved beyond belief when he asks to see me again the next day, to take me out some place. And hell, I know it'll mean asking yet another favour from Carol, for someone to look after Curly and Angela, but then she is the one who's been telling me I need to move on in my life.

Maybe it's about time I find out if there's meant to be more to my life than tears and sadness. Something better than hiding behind my pills and struggling to make ends meet all the damn time.

xxxxxx

 _July 1960._

As soon as we walk out the building I realise I've made a terrible mistake.

Should have taken into account exactly how much his father meant to Tim. Shouldn't have sprung it on him like this.

I mean I didn't expect that he'd show he was pleased to see me or nothing, because I know what teenage boys are like, with their reputations and all. I mean I can still remember how my brothers used to be at his age so I'd resisted that overwhelming urge to hug him when I'd first seen him. But at least he'd been talking a little and had smiled, just for a couple of seconds. But now we're out here it's pretty obvious this wasn't exactly the brightest idea of how to introduce the pair of them.

"Car's right over there," I say, pointing.

But he's stopped dead on the sidewalk, frozen to the spot as he glares across. "So who's he?"

"A friend of mine."

"Yeah?" Tim still doesn't move. Just watches Harry, who's standing there, leaning against the wall and staring right back at the pair of us.

"Come on, I'll introduce you. He's been a good friend to me, Tim." Feel slightly pathetic that I'm already feeling the need to justify my choices to a thirteen year old and I find myself resorting to anger, blaming Tim for his attitude rather than take any the responsibility for myself as I snap at him, "And he's been good enough to drive me over here to fetch you, so you damn well remember to be polite."

xxxxxx

 _September 1960._

Funny how things turn out.

Two weddings almost exactly fourteen years apart, but neither of them how I ever imagined back when I was a girl. No big dress, gaggle of bridesmaids or party filled with dancing.

Instead here I am once again at city hall, another September day, only this time around it's sunny and it ain't my Ma standing there giving me disapproving looks. This time her place is taken by my children. The boys sit there, scowling and uncomfortable in the new shirts I've made them wear and it's plain neither of them want to be here. Curly's fidgeting constantly in his seat as he chatters away to Tim who's sat alongside him, still and silent aside from occasionally telling his brother to shut up, his expression serious. Probably should have just left them in school. The only one smiling is Angela, telling anyone who'll listen she's a princess in her pretty frock, twirling around in the waiting area while we listen for our names to be called.

Still, at least one of us is happy, I guess.

Tell myself it's natural to be nervous, that the boy's mood is rubbing off on me, that my friends don't know Harry the way I do and that everything'll work just fine because at the end of the day I've got to what's best for me and my family.

Remind myself I felt the same way, had the same last minute jitters and worries about Ted on our wedding day. But he was a good husband, mostly. Ain't no reason that Harry won't be either.

xxxxxx

 _December 1960._

There's yelling and shouting coming the sitting room.

Most of it from Harry.

I don't know what to do, whether I should step in or leave them to sort it between themselves. Maybe I should interrupt because Tim is my son, not Harry's. But then I know full well my boy is no angel and that he needs to learn some respect for his step-father—and yet half of what Harry is yelling at him is too much, just isn't true.

Stand up, think about going in there, and then I sit back down again. Because maybe I should keep out of it and let him handle things, now he's the man of the house and everything. Find myself reaching for the near-empty pill jar half hidden beneath the newspaper. Just need to calm my nerves, help myself deal with this, stop my mind jumping around all over the place. The boy needs to learn to listen, to take some responsibility for his actions. Only now I can hear Curly getting involved too, Harry calling him out on being as useless as Tim, that the pair of them are just like their father.

Finally make myself move, and can't believe things are as bad as this.

Tim's taller than me since he got home, stronger, but he's still barely turned fourteen and he's no match for a grown man—not yet anyway, although I doubt that it'll be too much longer before he is. But for now, Harry's head and shoulders taller and a good deal heavier than my lean and lanky boy. It ain't like Ted never punished the kids. Saw my brothers take a beating enough times when I was a kid, hell I even had a couple from Ma myself. Don't stop me feeling a little sick as Harry hits Tim again and again, over and over, while Tim just stands there and takes it, all the time keeping Curly out the way behind him.

"Harry—"

"What?" He pauses for a second, glances back over his shoulder to glare at me. "These damn kids of yours need some fucking discipline Jean. It seems like that useless father of theirs never did anything about it and Lord knows you ain't been prepared to do nothing either, otherwise they wouldn't be running wild like they do. There's more damn phone calls from the school about one or the other of them making trouble or fighting every damn week, else if it ain't the school it's the cops. One damn thing after another."

And I find myself nodding, retreating back to the kitchen, sitting at the table, as I wonder why I ever thought this was a good idea, why I'd let him into my life, my bed in the first place.

Why I agreed to marry him.

Tell myself that today was simply a bad day. I mean at least he provides for us, keeps the roof over our heads and food on the table. Goes out to a regular job everyday so I don't have to. Tells me where he's going to so I don't need to worry none about that.

Try to convince myself that things could be a whole lot worse than this – that things _were_ a whole lot more difficult before he came along. That at least I don't have to cope alone no more or that at thirty-two with three kids I should be grateful that somebody was prepared to take me on.

I'm not feeling any calmer though, find myself reaching for the pill bottle once again. Put it back in my pocket, then draw it back out barely two minutes later, check the label and play with the lid.

Maybe taking one more would be alright, just to take the edge off, settle my nerves again, properly this time.

Can't hurt just this once.


	6. Chapter 6

A/N: Yet again, it's been an age, so apologies. Anyway, another little look back at Jean...

* * *

 **CHAPTER SIX**

 _March 1952._

"So how long are you home for?"

"A couple days. I got to be back for Monday, ship out sometime the following week."

I sigh as I glance over at my big brother.

I've been looking forward to this weekend ever since I got his last letter, the news he was finally going to come spend some of his leave back in Tulsa. And I'm so pleased he's come here, to my place, instead of just having to see him at Ma's.

Only as his words register—that he's leaving so soon, and not just to return to base, but because he's heading overseas again—I recognise that all too familiar feeling of anxiety growing in my stomach, the fear. Fear that I know he's leaving again, that he ain't gonna be around here for me to talk to again, won't even be on the end of the phone this time.

That once again there's no guarantee he'll be safe.

"Really wish you didn't have to, Tony. I thought you said you wouldn't have to go on no more tours, that your were gonna be based back in this country for the rest your service?"

"I'll be fine, kid, it ain't nothing you need to worry about." he grins at me, bounces Angela a little in his arms then kisses the top of her head. "Ain't like I haven't been to worse places, before. And it's kinda boring, stuck on base day in day out."

"But it's so far away," I whine.

And it is. It's near enough the other side the world, a country I've never even heard of until this trouble. Makes me glad Ted had already quit the army when we met, that he hadn't made a career of it like Tony, so at least I never had to worry about him like this too.

He just laughs. "Listen to me. Don't you waste your time worrying over me. I'll write you if I can, and I'll be back on leave again and bugging you sooner than you know."

The boys run in, Curly throwing himself onto my lap, smiling shyly at the uncle he's never met before, Tim more reserved as he sinks down to the floor as though to play with the toy trucks Tony's brought them, his dark eyes watching the pair of us the whole time.

"So is Ma expecting you back for dinner, or d'you want to stay, catch up with Ted, too?"

"Yeah, that sounds real good. To be honest I'll be glad of the break, Jean. You know how she is, she hasn't stopped fussing around me since the minute I walked through the door last night. Took about a half hour before I got sick of all her questions, constantly asking whether I met anyone nice yet or if I'm gonna settle down sometime soon."

"And have you?" I ask grinning.

"Hell, you know me, I ain't exactly the settling down type."

"Really?" Although I guess he's right, because for all the girls he's ever had there's never been anyone that he's kept around any length of time.

"Yeah. Anyway," he adds as he hands Angela back to me then grins at the boys, beckons Curly over, then settles down next to Tim, "I reckon I'd like to spend a bit more time getting to know these nephews of mine a little better, rather than listen to Ma's complaining."

xxxxxx

Half past six.

Almost wish I hadn't asked him to stay. That I'd waited and arranged something with Ted. then I could have made sure he'd been back here. The boys are beyond waiting any longer, I've given them their dinner but our meal is gonna be beyond saving pretty soon. Don't really know why I bother to even consider we might all eat together anymore. Although it don't really matter, 'cause when my brother starts up on his questions my appetite disappears anyway.

"So, does he work late often?"

I shrug, not sure what to say really, try to sound non-committal, like it ain't something that bothers me on a regular basis.

"Now and then."

It's about the best answer I can think of, although I can't quite meet Tony's eye as I hand him another cup of coffee 'cause I'm not convinced he believes me. Instead I focus on watching the boys, Curly wolfing down his dinner like there's no tomorrow, shovelling spoonful after spoonful into his mouth in his desperation to get back to the game he'd been playing with Tony, that my brother had promised him they'd finish before bed time.

Tony looks at me, back across at the boys, who are still occupied—Curly chattering as he eats while Tim is quiet and focused on his meal—then speaks again. "He treat you alright, Jean?"

"What?"

"Well, I went for a few beers last night." He pauses, puts down the cup on the counter and runs his hand through his close cropped hair. Wonder what in hell he's gonna say, because I don't ever remember my brother being nervous about anything.

"And?"

"And people talk, Jean."

"Tell tales and gossip more like." I snap, folding my arms across my chest. "So what've people been saying about me?"

He shakes his head, his voice low as he replies. "Not about you, about Ted. And, well, I kinda feel responsible, being as I introduced you and all."

Glance back across at my boys, Curly's plate three quarters clear already. And while part of me would rather not know, I know there ain't likely to be another opportunity to have this conversation once they're done. "Glory, Tony, just spit it out if you got something to say to me."

"Sounds like some the work he's caught up in ain't exactly legal."

"Yeah, well what is in this neighbourhood? At least we got a roof over our heads, the kids got clothes, food."

"Yeah, I know, I probably would be much the same if I'd stayed here."

"Maybe." Although probably not, my brother always was the smart one, would never have been happy fitting in round here, making do, getting by.

"But that ain't all." He pauses for a couple of seconds, can't seem to look me in the eye anymore. "There was some chat. About him and some broad."

Even though I'd been half expecting this was where he was going, my stomach still hits the ground on hearing the words, feel sick. "No, that ain't true, it's just people being mean is all."

"You sure? 'Cause you're better than that, Jean. You don't need to put up with crap like that."

And even though I'm not sure I believe him, and I can feel the tears stinging the backs of my eyes, I smile at him, force out the words. Already know my Ma and everyone around here thinks I'm some kind of failure, don't want Tony thinking the same, not when he's been the one person whoever gave a damn about what happened to me.

"Yeah, everything's fine, honest."

xxxxxx

It's almost eight thirty when the door bangs shut, can't help flinching a little at the noise echoing through the house over Curly's excited laughter, over Tim and Tony talking; shrink back into the corner of the couch and play with my wedding ring, focus on twisting it round and round my finger in an attempt to keep calm.

"Christ sake, Jean, what in the hell are them kids still doing up? Making all that damn racket?" He calls out, pulling up short as he enters the room, sees them lying on the floor either side of my brother. Can't help thinking that maybe that's what he should be doing. Spending a little more time with his boys instead of always hanging around some no good crowd doing their dirty work.

"Hello, Ted." Tony pushes himself up, gets to his feet as he talks. He gives me a quick, questioning glance as the atmosphere in the room instantly becomes tense and the boys fall silent at the sight of their father. "Ain't Jean's fault. Persuaded her to let me spend some time with my nephews, while I'm in town. You don't mind, now, do you?"

"Tony! Good to see you, man." Let myself relax a little as his grimace is replaced by that broad smile that I rarely see these days. And I watch him reach out, shake my brother's hand as he becomes Ted the charmer, the guy everybody loves. The guy I fell in love with all those years ago.

xxxxxx

Ted pushes his plate away, turns to my brother. "So we gonna go grab a beer, like the old days?"

Tony glances at me, questioning, "You sure you're okay with that, Jeannie?"

I force a smile on my face. "Yeah, you may as well. Be nice for you two to catch up." I pile up the plates, turn towards the sink. "I got to tidy up some anyways, and make sure the boys settle down properly."

"Well that's settled then. See you later, darling." Ted smiles, kisses me real quick and heads into the hall impatient already to get out of here, I guess. Calls out to my brother. "You coming then, Tony?"

"Give us a minute." My brother pulls me into a bear hug. "Take care yourself, Jean. You want me to have a word with him?"

"No. It's fine, everything is good, I'm happy with him, honest."

He don't look convinced, but at least he don't press me on it no more. Just shakes his head as he fishes in his trouser pocket. "You got some fine kids there, you should be real proud. Next time I'm home I'll come see them, I promise." And then he presses some folded cash into my hand, whispers as he leans in to kiss me goodbye. "It ain't much, but give me your word that you'll keep this somewhere safe, in case you need it. Just remember what I said earlier, okay? Think about what's best for you, the kids."

Can feel the tears spilling from my eyes as I nod at him. "I'll be alright. Just come home safe, promise?"

"Yeah. I promise."

xxxxxx

 _July 1952._

"What's this for?" I demand as Ted stands there, grinning at me while I look down at the chocolates he's pushed into my hands, the slightly worse for wear flowers he's still holding. Only I'm really not in the mood for yet another of his half assed romantic gestures. Wonder if he's even noticed how much of a mess I look, that my eyes are red and sore, my face puffy from all the tears.

"Can't a guy treat his wife?" His words are a little slurred, he's definitely been drinking. Not that that's anything unusual, not these days.

"I guess." Push a smile on my face. "Just it ain't no special occasion or nothing."

"Don't need to be does it?"

"No, suppose not. Thank you." Lean over and kiss him, ignore the nagging doubt in the pit of my stomach that this is to sweeten me up for something, whether Tony's speculation about my husband all those months ago was right after all.

Tony. God how I wish my brother was here, could help me decide on the right thing to do. My one ally who actually cared about _me_.

And then the tears start up yet again. I lean into my husband and snivel into his shoulder, desperate for him to hold me, help me forget the pain, the news.

"God's sake, Jean. What the hell? Jesus, you're always bitching that I don't pay you enough mind, then when I try to do something nice for—"

"Ma called."

"I know she's an interfering old witch, but what in hell has she said to cause this?"

I sniff back the sobs that are racking through me. Struggle to calm my breathing. "Tony, he ain't...there was a... he's been..."

Guess he gets what's I'm saying, as he stares down at me.

"What? They're sure?"

Nod at him, collapse into his arms "Yeah, I'm gonna miss him so much. What am I gonna do without him?"

He holds me close, whispers to me, "hell, sweetheart, you still got me."

"But what if—"

"Ssh, don't cry. I'll look after you, I promise. I ain't going nowhere."

And as he kisses the top of my head, I try to focus on his words and the fact he's here with me right now, not the hint of perfume I imagine I can smell on his shirt that most definitely ain't mine.


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N:** Thanks to everyone who's read, reviewed, followed or favourited so far :) So here's the next chapter, I'd love to know what you think of this one!

* * *

 **CHAPTER SEVEN**

 _April 1962._

All I can hear is the shrill noise of the phone as it rings and rings, over and over. But I ain't going to pick it up, don't want to find out why someone is ringing me at this time of the night.

It stops and I let out a sigh of relief, only to be jolted back to the edge as it starts up again. Hear Curly's tired footsteps stumble out his room, down the hall, followed by a half of a conversation.

"Hello…Yeah." He yawns as he listens. "Yeah, that's right… Ma? Yeah, I'll get her." Hear the phone clatter against the table as he dashes this way, shakes me urgently by the shoulder as he stands alongside me hopping from foot to foot and wide awake now. "Ma, come on. It's for you. Something about Tim."

Glory, but I wonder what in hell that boy is into now. Got to be the cops. Still, at least Harry's not here and I got some time to deal with whatever this turns out to be in my own head before he needs to find out about it. Grab up the phone and force out a shaky hello, try to pretend I can't see Curly, picking at the grubby plaster cast on his left arm as he loiters in the doorway to their bedroom, desperate to hear what they are telling me. I guess I should be thankful Angela ain't up too. Turn my attention to the person on the other end the line, surprised that it turns out to be a woman's voice, not Cooper or one of his colleagues down the station.

Don't really remember the conversation ending or me hanging up the phone. Although I guess it does and I do.

Next thing I know I'm sitting on the couch and I suppose Curly's brought me in here 'cause it ain't like I hardly come in this room these days—not if I have the choice. He's sat next to me, his dark eyes watching me, his good arm around me as the tears slide down my face.

"Ma? What's wrong, where's Tim?"

"Hospital," I sniff.

His eyes grow wide, as he tentatively questions me again. "And is he okay?"

Try to smile at him. "Yeah, honey. He's had an accident is all. I... I need you to stay here, take care of Angela. Have to go up there when Harry gets home. You think you can do that for me?"

He nods. "Course I can, Ma. I'm twelve, I ain't a baby no more."

"I know, sweetie." And I hug him, try not to think about what might have happened to my other boy as I sit and wait, pray this ain't one of them Friday nights where Harry decides to drink himself near unconscious before he finally wanders home.

xxxxxx

The nurses' words on the phone, all her warnings in the hall when we're done speaking with the doctor before she takes me further into ward—none of it does anything to prepare me for when I finally get to see Tim. How bad the left side of his face is cut up and all the jagged rows of black stitches holding it together.

Feel the bile rising in my throat as I stare down at him.

I have to turn away.

I can't look at him.

Wish I had a glass of water, another of my pills.

Don't want to be here.

Have to focus on something, anything, else as I try not to think about how much blood there must have been; the pain, whether he was frightened, alone, when it happened. What could have happened if someone hadn't found him, brought him here. Settle on the garish curtains hanging around the bed, colours too bright for a place as dismal as this, and count the rows of squares running through the pattern.

Only it don't help.

I _really_ don't want to be here, but I can't walk out now, don't want everyone to think I don't care. Thank God that at least they've pumped him so full of painkillers that he's not awake to see me 'cause he ain't ever fooled by me no more, knows what I'm thinking better than I do. Instead I step around to the other side the bed and sink into the chair there.

From here if I don't look too close or lean too far forward I can almost pretend nothing is wrong. This side of his face is unharmed, still looks like my perfect, handsome boy. And glory but he seems so young as he lies there, sleeping. Carefully, slowly, I reach out and take his hand, still terrified he might wake up and that he won't let me, won't need me. And it's then the guilt truly hits me. He might act tough, seem older than his years and take care of his brother and sister, even take care of me most the time too, but underneath it all he's still a child.

My child.

My boy who ain't ever gonna be the same after this, that conversation with the doctor when we'd arrived going round and round, over and over, in my head.

" _He's a lucky boy, Mrs Shepard."_

" _Mrs Locke," interrupts Harry, from the chair where he's slumped, and I wish he would just shut up, 'cause it don't really matter. Not right now when all I can focus on is what the doctor is trying to tell me, how much I need to see my boy, to make sure they're not lying to me and I haven't lost him too. Like I lost his father.  
_

 _"As I said, Mrs Locke, he's been lucky."_

" _Wh-what happened?"_

" _Seems someone attacked him, with a broken bottle. Cut him fairly badly on the left side of his face. Good news is, it narrowly missed his eye, so at least his sight isn't likely to be affected."_

" _But?"_

" _Well, there's a lot of stitches, and obviously was and still is incredibly painful for him. He'll be left with some scarring. But it should heal, become less noticeable in time."_

What a joke.

Can't see that there's anything lucky about him being left like this.

xxxxxx

Glance in to Angela's room as we walk back down the hall, allow myself to smile a little at the sight of her and her brother squashed up together in the narrow bed. Curly clearly taking that promise of looking after her seriously. But that good feeling don't last long, not when I think how much he looks like Tim, it always surprises me that the pair of them become even more alike when they're sleeping, Curly seeming more serious, Tim not able to hide behind that front of not caring.

Pills.

I need to get my pills.

I don't care whether it's the right time, or that I took them before I left, just need to shut it all out for a little longer.

Heading in the kitchen, I'm disappointed Harry is there, wish he'd gone straight to bed, 'cause from the expression on his face I know this isn't likely to end well. Not after his moody disinterest in the hospital and his angry silence in the car all the way back home.

"So how fucking much is all this shit gonna cost me this time?"

"Harry, I'm sorry. But it wasn't his fault."

"Yeah, right. If you managed to keep a control of that damn boy then he wouldn't be running around the town and getting in a position for some asshole to do that to him. Hell, he probably deserved it anyways. Always got some different easy little broad following him around, just like his father; probably some hacked off boyfriend had enough of him, either that or I wouldn't be surprised if he damn well started the fight in the first place, seems to think he's some fucking tough hood."

"No!" I shriek, start counting in my head a I grab a glass, turn on the tap. "He's a good boy." Feel my world starting to slide completely out of control as he rants on and on. Manage to tune most of it out—concentrate instead on counting the cups by the sink, the cans up on the shelf, over and over—until he grabs me by the arm.

"Listen to me, Jean. You think we can afford for him to spend another few days in the hospital? We ain't even done paying for that other idiot falling and breaking his arm. So tomorrow, you get your ass up that hospital and you bring him home."

"But they said—"

"Don't care. He can damn well lie around here in bed as easy as there."

"But the doctor—"

"You got the money to pay for another couple days in hospital? All those meds they'll give him?"

Look down at the floor, 'cause he knows there's nothing I can say to that, shake my head and struggle with the lid of my pills.

"Right. So that's settled. You go there and you bring him back here tomorrow. Christ, it ain't like you got anything better to do, sitting around here on your ass all day. You can damn well take care of him."

"But what if they won't let me?"

His grip on me tightens. "You arguing with me, Jean?" He shakes me a little, but right now I don't even care if he hits me. "Are you?"

"I won't bring him home if they say he needs to stay."

"Yeah? Reckon you need to think about that, Sweetheart."

"Just go away, Harry! Get your hands off of me!"

"With pleasure, darling." He raises his other hand, back hands me across the face and as I stumble I lose my grip on the pill jar and watch while they tumble down, spilling across the floor.

"Oh, God." I'm on my hands and knees, tears streaming down my face as I try to scoop them back up, before I realise he's laughing at me.

"Damn it, Jean. You really are pathetic."

I'm not sure whether it's his laughter, or the thought of how close I've come to losing my boy, the lack of sleep. About the one thing I am sure of is that I know I don't care anymore what he thinks of me. Don't have the energy to try to convince even myself that this marriage was anything but a lousy idea no more.

Should have just stayed Mrs Shepard, at least my mistakes were my own.

Feel almost like I'm outside of myself, that I'm standing here watching and it ain't actually me moving as I grab my half-filled glass of water off of the table and throw it in the general direction of his head as I scream back at him. "Yeah? Well you're... you're a monster, you fucking bastard."

Harry takes a step back towards me and I think this is it. That he's really gonna lose it now, that he's gonna come for me like he does the boys.

Only he don't.

He just glares at me, a look of utter disgust on his face as I stay kneeling on the floor before he walks out the room, slamming the bedroom door shut behind him.

And I sit there, watch the water dripping down the wall and pooling over the shards of broken glass, look down at the pills scattered around me and wonder why my life is such a mess.

My whole life nothing I've ever done or said has mattered and it don't look like that's changing any time soon. Do what I've always done, pretend like I don't care, that it don't bother me.

Scoop a couple of the stray pills into my hand and swallow them down dry, try to forget all the bad stuff, just for tonight.


	8. Chapter 8

**CHAPTER EIGHT**

 _September 1954._

Despite the warmth of the late evening sun, I can't help but rub my hands over my arms as we approach the unfamiliar building.

"Feeling chilly?" Ted asks, as he pulls open the door.

I nod as I step inside and wait for him to take charge.

"Hell, you'll soon warm up in here."

Glancing around, it seem the place is busy already, buzzing with people and music; and he's right, it's real hot, uncomfortably clammy. But I ain't feeling any better for it or any more at ease yet, find myself reaching out to place a hand on his arm to steady myself a little. I ain't sure what I should do or say. Instead I end up standing mutely beside my husband as he smiles and laughs and charms the staff, then pulls out a chair for me at a nearby table and orders us drinks without even having to take a look at the wine list.

"A glass of wine, Jean?"

I nod and smile as the glass in front of me is filled. I ain't ever been a drinker, wasn't worth the bother of trying to fool Ma with nothing like that back when I lived there, and since we had the children it ain't like I've had the time for socialising, so I hope it don't go to my head too quick. I'm glad it's dark in here because my face is flushed as it is, my cheeks continuing to burn as I attempt to relax and convince myself no one cares who I am and that I've just as much right to be here as anyone else. I figure I ought to pace myself a little, sip it slowly. But despite my best efforts it appears my nerves are determined to get the better of me and I find myself taking a too big gulp, coughing a little as I attempt to compose myself again.

"Steady there, Jean," he murmurs, smiling at me. This is the first time in forever that we've been out anywhere, together. And it seems like he's really making an effort this time, raising his glass in a toast, his other hand resting on my knee already. "To us, happy anniversary, Darling."

"Thank you, but you didn't have to go to all this trouble."

"Why? You suggesting that we ain't worth celebrating?" His voice is soft, but his expression doesn't match it, and I don't know how to take that, figure I've messed up again, put my foot in it; find myself stuttering and stumbling over my words like a schoolgirl.

"No, Ted, I'm sorry, I didn't mean anything."

And then I realise he's grinning at me. "Hell, Jean, don't get yourself all worked up. I'm only teasing you."

He laughs, but it still doesn't really feel like he's joking, not deep in my stomach, and I wrap my arms around myself, try to take a deep breath and remind myself that he's here, with me. Ignore the feeling that he's far too at home here, too familiar with all the staff, and concentrate on the fact that he asked Carol to mind the kids tonight, told me to get dressed up nice and brought me here—that he arranged all this for _me_.

"Sorry." I whisper, making myself smile back at him.

"Hell, a guy shouldn't need an excuse to take his wife out, should he? Figure eight years of being married is got to be worth something, don't you?"

Nod at him, don't trust myself not to break down right now. Because he does seem to be trying real hard to make a go of things, again. For the past few months things have felt almost normal, like back when we were first married and I'm beginning to think that maybe we're over the worst and settling back into a routine. Haven't heard any more nasty rumours and gossip about him either—least not for a couple months anyways.

"Hey, Jean. You ain't gonna start crying are you? Thought this was supposed to be a nice night."

I shake my head as I dab at the corners of my eyes. "Sorry. I'm not upset." Reach across the table to take his hand. "I'm real happy, honest and I'm having a lovely time. I love you so much, Ted."

"Love you too, Sweetheart." The words fall easily from his lips but I can't help but notice that his eyes are already elsewhere; that he's pushing back his chair, making excuses of heading for the bathroom. As the minutes pass I wonder what's keeping him, steal a glimpse over my shoulder, I only want to know where he is. I mean I don't think he's gone or that he's left me here, but it feels like I've been here for hours, watching the waiter darting back and forth across the busy room. And then I see him, leaning against the wall, his face animated as he talks with some group of people I don't know, don't even recognise; don't miss some girl amongst them giggle at his words before she slaps him playfully on the arm though, or the way he looks at her as she walks away.

I try my best not to stare. Try to focus on watching the other people around me or counting the chairs, the bottles on the shelf behind the bar, anything to keep my mind busy as I sip at my drink. But my gaze constantly flits back towards him and these people he seems to know so well, all the while my imagination working overtime as to why exactly I ain't good enough to be introduced to any of them. So that by the time he finally returns, his words half-hearted apologies and meaningless compliments, I guess the wine has made me braver.

"Friends of yours?" I ask.

"Yeah." He grins. "From work is all."

I want to ask him more, because they sure as hell don't look like they work in the lumber yard to me, and the question is forming on my lips but he's already changing the subject, telling me some tale of something I got no real interest in as he works his way quickly through the remainder of the bottle of wine. Suppose I'm getting carried away, letting my nerves get the better of me. A silly little girl with an overactive imagination. This is simply a nice, unexpected, night out with my husband, nothing more. Nothing is going to go wrong, not tonight.

But as the evening progresses and he leans across and kisses me before he asks me to dance like we're out on some date not some couple who've been married for years, and then later still when he pulls me into his arms and into bed whispering all sorts of words filled with love and desire, I hate that I still can't quite manage to shake that last lingering doubt as to whether it's anything more than just empty talk, or if I truly am as important to him as he is to me.

xxxxxx

 _November 1954._

"Sit down, Angela." I snap, pushing her away from my legs. "Tim, fetch your sister some milk."

He scowls up at me from where he's already helping his brother butter some bread, mutters something under his breath.

"What did you say?" I ask, my voice harsh, really don't need no back chat from him this morning.

"Nothing," he hisses before he slides off of his chair and turns towards the refrigerator.

And then it happens again. That uncomfortable, unwanted feeling in my gut, followed instantly by the panic rising in my chest as I know I need to get out of here right away.

"Tim, watch this pan, now." I barely get the words out as I make a run to the bathroom, retching uncomfortably, my belly empty aside from the tiny sip of water I managed to swallow a few seconds ago. The smell of the eggs I'm cooking for Ted is turning my stomach today, can't face any of the coffee either.

Hear Ted on the move. Had hoped he'd stay in bed for a few minutes longer, give me a chance to gather myself, but I guess it ain't my lucky day. Either way I can't move, not yet, don't trust my legs to support me. Not long before I don't have no choice though as Ted appears in the doorway and I'm struggling to my feet, smoothing back my hair in a half-hearted attempt to hide how bad I'm feeling.

"Hurry up in here Jean, need to get myself ready for work and what on earth is going on in that kitchen? You trying to burn the place down or something?" he mutters, before he realises exactly what kind of a mess I'm in as I wipe at my face with the back of my hand, gulp down a little water from the tap and pray it don't set me off again. "Glory, Jean, what in hell?"

"Sorry." Force a small smile onto my face. "I'm just a bit under the weather today. Probably picked up whatever sick bug it was that was bothering the children last week. I'll be fine, I'm much better already. Anyway don't be long, your breakfast is near enough done."

I push past him into the hall, figure keeping myself busy is the best way to deal with this. Hope I can get myself back to the kitchen before the faint smell of lightly burnt eggs becomes anything more disastrous. Tell myself it must be the same thing that had Curly sick at the weekend, Angela running a temperature only last week, and that it's simply the time of year for everyone falling ill. Because I can't afford to think about the consequences of it being anything else; that it ain't feeling much like a bug, and that somewhere in the back of my mind is that small, persistent, voice telling me that I've been here before.

But maybe it won't turn out that way either. Maybe it's simply my body playing tricks on me like all them times between Tim and Curly; yet another false alarm. Except that back then I was crying because it _didn't_ happen, because I so wanted another baby. Is it so wrong that I'm wishing, praying even, for the opposite now? Because with Tim in school full time and the others getting more independent everyday things are finally getting a little easier, feels as though I can maybe just about cope these days. I don't want to go back to struggling and barely getting by, to worrying all the time. I guess I'll have no choice though, there's nothing I can do about it either way now. Don't have any options other than sit here and wait and pretend there ain't nothing bothering me until I find out for definite, one way or the other.

"You not eating today then, Sweetheart?"

Shrug at him, it's taking all my effort to keep myself sitting here, not hightail it back out of the room. "No, I'm just not hungry right now. I'll have something later once I've sorted out these three." Turn my attention back to the children, whisper to Curly to eat up nicely, can see the scowl forming on Ted's face already at the time he's taking with his toast, too busy playing with his food rather than eating it. Watch as Tim silently takes his plate to the sink, washes it quickly then turns towards the door.

"See you later, Ma." He whispers, pecking me quickly on the cheek.

"Don't forget your lunch." I smile at him. "And wear your coat. It's gonna be cold out."

Jesus, Jean. Quit babying the boy," Ted snaps, "he's big enough to sort himself out, don't need you fussing like that."

"Sorry," I mutter, unable to stop myself from hugging my boy anyway.

"It's alright, Ma, I got everything." Tim grins at his father as he squirms away from my embrace, typical boy reminds me of my brothers so much. "I got to go, my friends'll be waiting."

Barely a minute after the door has banged shut behind Tim, Ted's on his feet too and he leans over and kisses me. "See you later, Darling." And he's half way out the room before he glances back at me, tosses the words nonchalantly back at me. "Oh, by the way, I might be a little late home tonight."

Can't stop my face from falling at that, the doubt setting in again. "Oh? Why's that?"

"Aiming to get us a little extra cash, figured I'd start doing a little overtime before the holiday season." He raises his eyebrows, like he's daring me to protest. "I mean, that's okay with you, ain't it, Jean?"

Nod at him. "Of course it is. See you tonight, have a good day." I force out the words as I watch him pull on his jacket before he heads out through the front door. Stand there for goodness knows how long before I find myself unable to contain it any longer and I have to run back to the bathroom, hunched awkwardly on the floor until my baby boy wanders in and brings me back to my senses.

"Are you okay, Mama?" he asks, his hand gentle on my hair as he leans in to hug me.

Nod at him as I hastily wipe away the tears staining my cheeks. "Yes, baby. Now, can you go be a big boy for Mama and play with Angela for a little while, just while Mama's in here getting washed up?"

And I'm so relieved that Curly just nods and does as I ask, that the pair of them hurry off laughing and shrieking preoccupied with some make believe game of cowboys and princesses; that they forget all about me and leave me alone, sobbing there on the floor and hoping I've got this wrong, and that this really is nothing more than just some illness I've picked up from one of the children.

* * *

A/N: I'd just like to say a huge thank you to everyone who's been reading and reviewing, I really appreciate your interest in this and would love to know what you think of this chapter.


	9. Chapter 9

**CHAPTER NINE**

 _January 1964._

I feel myself relax a tiny bit as soon as I hear the front door open then rattle a little against the frame as he attempts to shut it behind him, followed by his clumsy footsteps continuing towards the kitchen.

"Oh hey, Ma." My youngest boy grins at me, looks a little unsteady on his feet. "Why you still up?"

"No reason, baby, just couldn't sleep." Don't tell him that I need to know he's safe, that he's come home, that I'll most likely sit here until they're both back in the house. "Where you been?"

Curly shrugs. "Just out, Ma. With my friends."

"Your brother home too?" I ask, even though I know he's not; that I won't rest properly until I know Tim's in the house as well.

"Nah, not yet, he had plans of his own tonight so I left him to it."

His goofy smile gives away exactly what he thinks my oldest boy is up to. Seems Tim don't have any trouble finding a girl if he wants, when he's not too busy getting into other trouble; that those scars I still find it hard to see only serve to make him more attractive, mysterious even, to the type of girls that live around here. Though I wonder exactly what kind of girl he does spend his time with, ain't ever heard him talk about them, other than from his brother's comments where it sounds like he's with someone different every damn week.

"What, he let you walk back on your own? At this time of night?"

"Jesus, Ma. I ain't a little kid, I'm fourteen next month." He sways towards the counter, grabs a glass and turns on the tap.

"You been drinking, Curly?"

"No, Ma." But his smile, his not quite focused eyes, the slow careful way he's speaking, all give him away.

Decide not to call him out on his lie, figure that I'll save that for tomorrow and have words with Tim. He should know better than to let Curly get like this and then leave him to fend for himself. "Okay, well you go on to bed, before Harry hears you crashing around and has something to say about it."

"Yeah, night, Ma." He gives me a quick hug as he shuffles back past the table, then lurches back out the door towards his bedroom.

xxxxxx

 _February 1964._

This is getting to be a habit for him, it's already past nine o'clock. Curly is out near enough as much as Tim these days, up to God only knows what as he follows his brother about like he can do no wrong; neither of them ever telling me where they're going, when they'll be back. It's only Wednesday and they've both got school tomorrow, not that either of them seem to care about that these days.

And then of course it happens. The phone rings and I feel sick to my stomach. I know I should get there, answer it before Harry. But somehow I can't move, think maybe if I ignore it then it'll just go away. It doesn't though; it never does. The ringing stops for a few seconds, before starting up again, only it's Angela, not Harry, who answers it and I can't decide if that's better or worse.

"My Ma? Yeah, she's here, I'll get her." There's a light thud as she places the receiver on the hall table and heads this way. My head is spinning, it's like some sick replay of that other night, Curly coming to get me, them telling me Tim's in the hospital. Only by the time I'm moving it's too late. Harry's there and talking to someone before slamming down the receiver an angry smirk on his face.

"What's happened? What's wrong?" I plead, I don't want to know and yet still need to hear it all at the same time.

He just laughs. "Your idiot boy got himself arrested. Looks like he'll be headed to the reformatory soon enough."

"Not again? Why, what're they claiming Tim did now?"

"Not him. The other loser." He laughs again as he turns to head back towards the sitting room to return to whatever crap he's watching on the television and the six pack of beers he's working his way through. Can't help hoping this is one of them nights he drinks himself to sleep and spends the night snoring in the armchair. "Oh and they ain't just saying nothing. Caught him red handed robbing some store apparently, so there's no way he's getting out of it, is there? Boy's a damn fool."

xxxxxx

It's past midnight when Tim finally makes it home, his footsteps soft over the hall floorboards as he heads towards the bathroom, pausing when he hears me calling out to him, telling him to get in here now.

"What's the matter, Ma?" he asks, stopping next to me, smiling at me as he stands there reeking of liquor and cheap perfume.

The smell, the sight of him throws me; so tall and so grown up now, so like his father, it could almost be Ted standing there watching me. As I push myself to my feet, my head swims, suddenly filled with memories of Ted, of all those times _he_ came home late to me. Find myself gripping the edge of the table, focusing on the lines on Tim's face I usually can't bear in an attempt to remind myself it's him standing there.

"Where's your brother?"

"How should I know?" He shrugs.

"You're meant to take care of him."

He frowns, and I think for a half second that I can see the hurt on his face at my accusation, before he runs a hand through his hair and composes himself. "Jesus, Ma. He don't need me doing that no more. And you didn't give a shit what I was doing when I was his age, so quit treating him like a baby all the time."

"No. It's your fault. You're supposed to keep him safe. You promised you would." I can feel the tears in my eyes as I think about my baby boy, locked up down the police station, frightened and alone. Or worse, not alone; surrounded by the drunks and criminals they pulled off the streets tonight. "He got arrested, Tim."

"Fucking idiot," he sighs, "he'll be out tomorrow; he's probably done something stupid, like talking back to the cops or something, they'll be trying to give him a scare."

"No!" I scream. "They caught him stealing, they'll send him away."

"Jesus, I told him not to do nothing," Tim mutters, more to himself than to me.

"You what? You knew he was doing it?" Lurch towards him, lash out at him, hit him, scream at him. "It's all your fault. You were supposed to look after him." I carry on and on, yelling and hitting at him, scratching and clawing at his chest, pushing and slapping. But he does nothing to stop me, just stands there and takes it until I burn myself out, collapse crying against his chest.

"Come on, why don't you go to bed, Ma. This ain't helping you, you taken any your pills?"

Shake my head at him.

"What, not even those new ones? Might as well try them, doc said they would help you, didn't he?" Watch as he finds the pot, flips off the lid and hands one to me, followed by my glass.

"Yeah, okay."

His hand is on my shoulder as he guides me to my room, makes me sit on the bed.

"Look, don't worry. Hell, Curly's older than I was when they sent me there and I don't recall you being so bothered then."

Don't know what to say to that, because I guess from where he's standing it must seem like that, me not going to visit him, not even to see him after it was decided. And I guess he don't have the first clue on how much I - all of us - struggled without him; me crying myself to sleep for being such a failure, for letting him down; making the mistake of letting myself believe Harry Locke could be the answer to all my problems.

"But—"

"But nothing, Ma, you know I'm right. Curly's a tough kid, he can handle himself." He turns to leave, pauses in the doorway; his expression softens a little as he turns to me and speaks one last time. "I'll take you down the police station first thing, if you want me to? Let you see for yourself he's okay."

* * *

A/N: Sorry it's been a while, but I felt it was a good time to take a brief look at the different dynamics between Jean and her boys. Hope it works?


	10. Chapter 10

**CHAPTER TEN**

 _August 1955._

I struggle out the back door with the full basket of wet washing in my arms, Angela at my heels. For once everyone is home and Ted and the boys are already out here. He's been around the house more than usual this past week or so, almost like he's avoiding something and it gives me a real uneasy feeling as to what's really going on with him. But even so I can't help but smile as I watch my husband out in the yard spending time with the boys. Finally Ted seems more interested in being around them, or Tim at least. He's kneeling there, showing him how to throw a punch, laughing, encouraging him. Actually praising him.

"You're getting real good at this, son. Remember, think about it, take your time and don't swing wildly. One decent hit's worth more than three poor ones... Yeah, that's it, now do it again."

Tim nods, and the pride in my boy's eyes at hearing his father's words is obvious as he stands a little straighter, readies himself. "Like this?"

"You've got it, son. You ain't gonna have no trouble at school, you'll be able to take on any of the losers in a fight."

Dropping the basket on the path I take up the first of Ted's shirts as Angela eagerly stands beside me, a clothespin ready in each of her outstretched hands, while I turn to hang the shirt on the line. It's only then that my good mood evaporates. Curly is hovering around them, hopping from foot to foot and leaning on Ted's shoulder, clearly desperate to get involved, to be included the same as his brother. Except Ted isn't paying any heed at all to his enthusiasm; instead his voice is getting steadily angrier, as he lets Curly's constant questions and chatter wind him up more and more.

"Go over there, wait your damn turn," Ted snaps, sweeping Curly's hands away.

Curly's bottom lip quivers a little but at least he knows better than to cry these days, has learnt that much at least. Same as me; I know it'll only be worse if I get involved, that if I press Ted to let him join in it'll all end up in a fight, spoil the day for everyone. Instead, I take up a couple more shirts from the pile, automatically shake them and hang them up, my eyes still on Curly. For a second or two he just stands and looks between his father and brother, confusion written across his face, not moving until Tim give him a slight nod, a half smile over Ted's shoulder. And at this he quickly retreats, sits on the ground with his back against the fence, knees drawn up under his chin, watching as Ted returns his full attention to Tim. Wish Ted could have a little more patience with him, but no matter what Curly does he always seems to get Ted's back up. Gets so over excited that he doesn't listen well enough or notice his father's mood until it's too late.

Maybe when he's older it'll be better, they'll get along easier; I mean Ted hasn't ever been all that interested in spending any time with Tim either until this last six months or so.

xxxxxx

I'm close to done, my mind already on the next of my long list of chores, when a loud knock at the front door echoes through the empty house, snaps me out of my thoughts and makes me shiver a little, as I wonder who it can be. No one really ever comes here, especially on a weekend, ain't like we ever have guests. "Are you expecting anyone, Ted?"

He glances over his shoulder at me. "No, why would I be?" he replies, although I don't miss the way his smile doesn't quite meet his eyes.

"Curly, honey, can you go answer the door for me? Find out who it is." I ask, try to give him something important to do.

"Yes, Ma." He grins at me as he runs inside, his earlier upset already forgotten, and I turn my attention back to draping the unwieldy sheets over the clothes line.

"Jesus, where is that boy?" Ted complains a minute or so later, shaking his head as he strides back into the house. "Can't do one damn thing properly."

It's barely five seconds after he goes in that Curly comes skidding out the back door, runs straight to his brother and whispers something, causing Tim's expression to fall and giving me a sick feeling in the pit of my stomach.

"You sure, Curly?" he asks.

Curly nods furiously in return, kicks at the dirt. "Yeah, I'm sure, Tim. I ain't an idiot."

"Curly, what is it?" I demand.

"It's the cops, they're talking to Dad," Tim answers for him as he walks towards the house, presumably curious to see exactly what's happening.

"No, Tim. You boys need to both stay out here, keep any eye on Angela for me." And I hurry inside, just in time to see the two police officers cuffing my husband as they push him out the front door onto the porch.

"What's going on? Ted?" I demand, my voice high pitched, desperate, but Ted only grins at me.

"Nothing, darling, it's all one big misunderstanding."

"But why are you—"

"Jean," he sounds harsher now, "just listen to me will you? It's nothing, I'll be home before you know it, you'll see. Ain't nothing for you to be interested in."

One of the cops shoves Ted's shoulder and makes him stumble towards the car while the other looks pityingly at me, makes me feel like I'm worthless, the lowest of the low.

"Why are you arresting my husband? What's happened, when will he be back?" I beg, desperate for any information. "Please?"

The cop's expression softens a little. "Sorry, Mrs Shepard, but I can't tell you anything. Telephone the station Monday; they might be able to tell you what's happening."

"But Ted... he said—"

"Look, just make that call, okay?"

I stand there, watch as they get in the car and drive off, tears clouding my eyes as I glare at the busybodies across the street, leaning on the fence and talking about us, making no pretence at hiding their gossiping. Retreating inside I slam the door; find myself having to lean against the wall because I'm not entirely sure I'll be able to stand if I don't. Slide down to the floor and bury my head in my hands, let my tears fall freely now until Tim's voice that brings me crashing back to reality.

"Ma, what's going on?"

Force myself to smile at him while I hastily wipe at my eyes with the back of my hand, and get to my feet. "Nothing, sweetie."

"But where's dad gone?"

"He… he's just had to go out, he'll be back later. It's nothing you need to know about."

"Do you need anything, Ma? Are you sick?"

I know he's only trying to help, but right now I need to be alone, pull myself together, so I find myself snapping at him. "No, now leave me be with all your questions and go keep an eye on Angela like I asked you to."

Tim frowns at me, confusion in his eyes as he opens his mouth as though he wants to ask me something else. But then to my relief he somehow changes his mind, disappears from sight and leaves me alone with my misery, my fear.

xxxxxx

I don't know how long I spend here on my bed, but eventually I'm all cried out, realise I can't hide in here forever and pretend nothing is happening, no matter how bad I'm feeling. Standing at the kitchen sink I splash some water on my face, try to compose myself a little more before I go out to the children, wonder exactly what to tell them.

Looking up as I reach for the towel I catch a glimpse of the three of them through the window; Tim, so serious as he attempts to teach his brother all he's learnt from Ted, while Angela watches, laughing and cheering every time Curly actually manages to land a soft punch on Tim. They seem so together, so self absorbed, that I can't help but wonder if they've even noticed how long I've been gone.

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A/N: Thank you so much to everyone who's been reading and reviewing. Hope you like this chapter too!


	11. Chapter 11

**CHAPTER ELEVEN**

 _July 1964._

"Shit," Curly exclaims at the glass crashes against the tiles, shattering across the kitchen floor, the noise startling me. Still, at least Harry's at work, won't be coming in here yelling and screaming at him over it.

"What happened, are you alright?" I ask, getting to my feet.

"It's nothing, Ma. Just slipped outta my hand is all. Why don't you sit back down before you get cut or something?" He grins up at me as he picks up the dustpan, starts to sweep up the shards of glass.

And I'm about to do as he says when I catch a sight of his hand, the angry red blisters on his finger.

"What did you do? Are you hurt? How did you do that?" I exclaim, grabbing at his arm, "Stand up and let me see."

"Jesus, Ma, it ain't nothing," he protests, trying to keep his hand out of mine while I grab at his arm, as Tim walks into the room, snorts at his brother's words.

"No, what it is, is proof that you ain't got no brain at all, Curly."

"Don't talk about your brother like that, Tim, not when he's hurt."

"Hurt? Christ, Ma, it ain't nothing but a pathetic little burn. Why don't you tell her how it happened, Curly? How it was all your own idea, some dumbass game with your idiot friend? You might not feel so sorry for him then, Ma."

"Shut up, Tim," Curly whines, his face red as he pulls his hand out of mine, before storming out of the room.

Glancing up I notice for the first time the state Tim is in, able to take a good look at the full extent of his own injuries while he's preoccupied with looking in the fridge, finding himself something to eat. His scars might have faded, no longer quite so angry and red, but there're fresh bruises layered over them, his lip swollen and split, his eyes dark, like he ain't slept properly in days.

"Tim?"

"Yeah, Ma, what is it?"

"I...it's nothing, don't worry." I swallow back all my questions, resist the urge to ask him more, to reach out and touch his face, because I know he won't want me to, will only shrug it off as nothing, same as always.

xxxxxx

 _March 1965._

"You need to tell your damn layabout son to contribute. 'Bout time he put something into this household instead of scrounging off of me all the damn time."

Harry throws the unopened envelope across the table at me. Bills. Yet another final demand—electric this week—in the never-ending stream of red topped letters threatening action if we don't do something about them.

"But—"

"But nothing, Jean," he yells, in between mouthfuls of his breakfast and gulps of coffee. "Boy's been out of school for more than six months now and still got no fucking regular job. Either he sorts this or he's out of here. I ain't supporting that freeloader no more. Worse than his fucking father was, always out fighting and drinking and screwing around."

"Stop it!" Find my voice getting louder and louder, although I don't know why I bother, 'cause he ain't gonna take any notice anyway. "Don't talk about him like that, you can't throw him out, where would he—"

"Don't fucking tell me what I can or can't do, Jean, in my own home."

His home. Seems to conveniently forget this was my home, my family's home long before he ever came on the scene, that it's still my name on the lease, not his; that Tim seems to do just fine for money and he's the one who cleared the phone bill last week, last month too, or that the other two only ever ask him for money in place of me these days, despite all Harry's criticising.

"Just damn well tell him or I will," Harry persists, on his feet now and running a comb through his greasy hair as I busy myself with refilling the coffee pot, try to focus on keeping busy, keeping my mouth shut. "Now quit fussing, Jean, and get out the damn way. _Some_ of us still got to go to work."

His heavy footsteps echo down the hall, pausing only as he stops outside the boy's room to curse some at Tim, before carrying on out the house, the door rattling on its hinges as I sink back into my chair, reread the latest of the letters he's shoved in front of me this morning. Should really be doing something, getting on with some chores; maybe clean the place up some. Only really, what's the point? It all feels too hard, too much, can't think where to even start. Find my eyes drifting back to my pill bottles, that easy way out. Ain't like anyone would even notice if I do anything or not anyways, let alone thank me for it, so why even bother?

xxxxxx

 _September 1965._

"Come on, Ma. We need to leave soon."

I try to brush Angela's hand off of my shoulder as she shakes me, tries to gain my attention. I wish she'd be quiet, just leave me alone, but she ain't giving up easily this morning.

"Please, Ma? Just come put on this clean dress and we can go."

She's holding up an old black frock of mine, although I can't think why. Find myself wondering if it's a funeral or something. Wonder who died. And then the panic hits me. Start asking her a hundred and one questions as she guides me into the bathroom, helps me struggle into my dress before she wipes at my face with a washcloth.

"Where're your brothers this morning?"

"Jesus, Ma, you know Curly's in the reformatory again," she says, rolling her eyes at me, "he'll call us up on the weekend and he'll tell you all about what he had for dinner, just like last week."

"And Tim, where is he?"

"We're going to see him now, remember?" She runs a brush through my knotted hair and I wince a little as it snags, try to push her away, catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror as I do so and my breath catches in my throat. Don't hardly recognise the face looking back at me, so old, so tired, more like my mother than me. Used to always care about my hair, how I looked. Back when we were first courting Ted was always telling me how much he loved it, how beautiful it made me. Harry though, don't suppose he'd notice, let alone care, if I cut it all off; wonder when it was I stopped caring too. "Please, Ma. Let me do this. We have to leave in a few minutes or it'll be too late. If we miss the bus we won't get to see him at all."

xxxxxx

"Why are we here, Angela?" I stare up at the bleak stone-fronted building, and I just want to run away, go home and shut myself away from the world again, not deal with whatever this is.

"To be here for Tim, Ma. He's in court today."

And then it all comes back to me. My boy on the phone, a few nights ago; acting like he don't give a damn, like it was no big deal, even then.

 _"Hey, Ma."_

 _"Tim? Where are you?"_

 _"Police station. Got picked up for something... no, don't cry, it's nothing. Listen, is Ange there?... No? Well okay, just don't worry, I'll be home before you know it."_

Ten years since I've been here, always hoped I'd never be in here again. Don't suppose I should really be surprised though, he really is too much his father's son to stay out of trouble for very long.

"Sit there, Ma." Angela almost shoves me into a seat about half way down the room, well away from anybody else, from the people the other side of the aisle glaring across at us like they hate us. Whispering and pointing and talking. Telling tales about my boy, I guess, about what a terrible person he is and how it's probably all my fault, that I'm some terrible mother to him.

Twist my handkerchief round and round in my hands while we sit and listen as all the people up there talk and spout their lies about him, until it's finally his chance to speak, as they question him. Only Tim don't say nothing to contradict them, don't barely say a word at all, and suddenly it's all over and the judge is speaking again.

Three years.

In that place.

It can't be right, I grab a hold of Angela's arm, tears rolling. It has to be some terrible mistake. Why there? Not even his daddy was sent there, only to county, and he's just barely more than a boy. It has to be wrong, some kind of mix up. But no, the guards are taking him out, last time I'll see him in what feels like an eternity and I don't even get to say goodbye.

I can't think of anything else as Angela and I head out the building. She's holding her chin up, her expression serious as she glowers at that other boy's family, all over there smiling and happy over the news my son is being locked away. Not me though; I can hardly see though the tears in my eyes as I stumble along at her side and she drags me in the direction of the bus stop, my mind full of the shock on my boy's face as the judge told him his sentence and they take him away to pack him off to McAlester; that despite his best efforts he couldn't quite hide the fear in his eyes, how damn young he looked standing there between the guards.

He's a good boy, takes care of us all. Don't know why they can't see it, he wouldn't do what they said, would he?

Three years.

Thirty-six months.

Weeks and weeks, day after countless day.

How many days, weeks? I need to know this. Fifty two weeks in a year, that makes one hundred and— no, I can't figure out; too many people and so much noise, I can't hardly think straight.

Seems like hours until we're finally back in the house though it can't take more than thirty minutes. Sink down into my chair as Angela makes coffee, places a sandwich in front of me. Don't know why she bothers, ain't like I've got no appetite. Can't think of nothing but the way they all looked at him in there, like he's some monster. But he ain't his father, not deep down. He's a good boy, my good boy, same as his brother - only now they are both gone.

Pick up the newspaper, untouched from yesterday, and start turning the pages, focus on the words as I try not to think about my sons. Except I only get a couple of pages in, before I let out a cry, pull out the page and crumple it into a tiny ball before throwing it across the room. I won't read their lies about him.

The house is so empty without them. So silent. Sounds stupid, being as though they're barely ever home anyway, but just the thought that they won't be in for dinner, or creeping home late at night when they think I don't notice, that I won't see Curly following Tim around like his shadow, all of it makes me feel physically sick.

Push away the plate and reach for my pills. Take a couple from each bottle as I ignore Angela's questioning stare.

"Thought the doctor said them ones were just for the night time, Ma?"

I shrug at her, can't be bothered to give her no excuses.

Just need to shut it all out, not think for a while, not feel.

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A/N: Thank you to everyone who's been reading and reviewing. Sorry it's taken a while for me to update this :)


	12. Chapter 12

**CHAPTER TWELVE**

 _November 1955._

"Angela! Come back here right now!" I half-heartedly call after her as she dashes away from me, her face lighting up at the site of her brothers across the street in the park with their school friends. Tim and that Miller boy sat on the wall with a couple of older boys, while Curly and the younger kids run around playing some noisy game or other. It's a little after four, my shopping weighing heavy in my arms as I try to catch up to my daughter, the same girl who has spent the whole walk home up until now dragging along at my heels, grizzling and whining like there's no tomorrow.

Tim spots us, pushes himself off of the wall and heads towards his sister, waves a goodbye to his friends as he guides her back towards the street as Curly rushes up to me.

"Hello, baby, you had a good day in school?"

"Yeah. Can we stay a little longer? Please, Ma?"

I smile at his question, the same thing he asks me every time this happens. "Sorry, but it's time to come home now, you know that."

"Hey, Ma." Tim appears at my side with Angela, takes the grocery bag from my arms as she chatters away at him as he sets off silently in the direction of home.

xxxxxx

We step inside the house, Angela and Curly still laughing over something, as I try to figure out how many meals I can squeeze out of the food we just bought and if I got enough cash spare to pay any off the rent, if I can keep us from having people knocking on the door demanding it for another week at least; so that it's not until I'm all the way down the hall and stepping into the kitchen that I realise the house isn't empty like it should be.

"Ted? What're you doing back?" In my shock at seeing him here the words spill out before I can stop myself. Guess I've got out the habit of actually thinking before I open my mouth these last few weeks.

He don't answer that though, only shakes his head at me. "No. The question is, where in hell have you been all day, sweetheart? Been waiting here for you since noon, only there ain't been no sign of you."

Taking a deep breath, I fix a smile on my face, try to keep my voice upbeat. "Well, you never called; I'd have been here if I'd known, just I wasn't expecting you 'til next month." I carry on across the room until I'm inches away from him standing there with his back against the counter, arms folded,not moving at all as I lean in to tentatively kiss him on the cheek.

"Well that much is obvious, only it don't exactly answer my question, does it?"

"Daddy!" Before I get a chance to reply Angela cries out, running to Ted and hugging his legs before he scoops her into his arms, the boys following behind her into the kitchen.

"Hey there, princess," he murmurs, kissing the top of her head as she hugs him tight, while he grins at Tim, even ruffles Curly's hair as he fidgets beside him. But despite their excitement, their happiness at him being here, Ted's eyes never leave me as he talks over the top of her head. "So where've you been, Jean? I'm gone for a couple months and you're running out on me? Is that how things are?" He drops Angela back to the floor, and glares at me while he waits for my response.

"No! It ain't that," I exclaim, hurt that he can even think that, and that he's saying it in front of the children. "Tim, why don't y'all go in the other room, let me and your daddy catch up some while I get your dinner sorted?"

"Yes, Ma." He takes Angela's hand again, turns back towards the hallway when Ted straightens up, calls him back and hands him some coins.

"Take the two of 'em with you to the corner store, buy some candy. Then you all play out in the park some until I come fetch you. Understand?"

Curly grins at Angela as she starts to reel off all the things she wants to buy and the games she wants him to play, while Tim just shrugs and goes to follow them out the door.

The tension in the room grows as Ted grabs a hold of Tim's shoulder, turns him back to face him. "I said, do you understand?"

"Yeah, dad, I heard you."

I stand here silently, waiting while they shuffle out, grateful at least that Curly and Angela are oblivious to the uncomfortable atmosphere as they continue to chatter and laugh until finally, after what feels like an eternity, the front door bangs shut behind them and Ted turns back to me. But he doesn't yell or shout or hit me, he just carries on talking in that low, calm sounding tone.

"So, Jean, you were telling me how I got it all wrong?"

"I've been at work." I know I'm speaking too fast, that even though it's the truth it still all sounds like some ridiculous made up excuse; but the way he's staring at me is so unsettling, makes me feel like I'm the one who messed up, not him; that maybe it'd be easier to deal with if he did shout. "Had to do something to get by, can't live on fresh air, can we? Bills still got to be paid. Ain't like we had much saved up to cover all that was it?"

"Working where?" he demands.

"Cleaning houses cross town in the day, and..." I pause, stare down at my feet and fiddle with my wedding ring, twisting it round and round, 'cause I'm pretty sure what else I got to tell him ain't gonna go down well at all.

"And what, Jean?"

"Well," I hesitate, knowing I shouldn't feel bad, not for doing what I needed to do - _had_ to do- to take care of my family, not when he hasn't even been here to look after us. But knowing that don't make me feel any better as I force out the details of my other job to him. "I've been working a couple evenings in a bar as well, the pay there is better than all the cleaning put together, I needed the money, Ted."

Yeah? Never mind the cash, what the hell happens to the children then? You just fuck off out and leave them on their own? Leave an eight year old in charge?"

"Nine," I whisper, "had his birthday last week, he's nine now."

"You trying to make out like I don't know my own kids, Jean?" he demands, grabbing a hold of my arm as he glowers at me.

"No, I'm sorry, I didn't mean nothing, honest, Ted. And I don't leave them. Carol next door, she comes in and watches them for me." Take a deep breath as I step away and start unpacking the groceries. I know he's real mad, but I might as well tell him the rest, get it over with before I lose my nerve. "I need to fix some food for them now, I'm supposed to be there tonight, six 'til ten."

"No." He snaps back, instantly.

"But—"

"You're seriously considering going out the first night I'm back?"

I shrug at him. "I... Well, it's just I'm supposed to. I agreed to work on a Tuesday and a Thursday evening."

Ted shakes his head at me. "No, I ain't having you disappearing on me when we've got catching up to do." And then he smiles at me, wraps his arms around my waist, kisses me softly, slowly. "Look I know I made some mistakes before, but I've missed you, sweetheart. Had a lot of time for thinking, I'm gonna make it up to you, I promise."

Things might have been easier this past couple of months, no fighting or tension in the house, but his attention and his words make me realise how much I've missed him being around, being close to him. Makes me ignore the feeling that giving in so easily is the wrong choice as I say exactly what I think I ought to just to keep him onside.

"I guess, I suppose I could telephone and say I'm sick or something."

"No, Jean. I'll do it. I won't have you working in some dive, for some bunch of losers to be chatting up. Not now, not ever."

I can feel the tears pricking at my eyes as I still feel the need to justify my decisions, to have him understand. "But I had to do something, Ted, kids needed feeding, wasn't anyone else gonna help me. Can you imagine if I'd had to go to my Ma for help? She'd never let me forget it. So I didn't have no other choice, did I?"

"Yeah? Well I'm back now, so you don't need to worry about any of that no more."

I fold my arms, surprise myself a little when I challenge him on this. "And what if something goes wrong again, or if I like doing something more than being stuck here all the time?"

"Jesus, Jean, I'm home now, got another job lined up already so you don't need to go do that." He runs a hand down the side of my face, kisses me again then sighs. "Look, carry on doing the cleaning job if you like but I want you home at night time, with your family where you belong. And besides, I've been looking forward to seeing you, don't want to be fighting my first night home. Plenty better ways we could be spending our time together ain't there?"

I hug him, rest my head against his shoulder. "Guess I better ring them though, let them know I ain't coming in."

"No, you tell me the number the place and I'll deal with it later. Like I told you when we got married, you don't need to worry about anything 'cause I'll always be here to take care of you."

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A/N: Thanks as always to everyone who's been reading and reviewing - I'd love to know what you think of this update :)


	13. Chapter 13

**CHAPTER THIRTEEN**

 _December 1965_

"What the hell, Jean? Has that damn girl been using all the hot water again?"

Pulling my cardigan closer around me, I shrug at Harry as he strides in through the kitchen doorway. Don't seem likely to me, Angela hasn't ever been one for getting up early, although I suppose for once she must have been; must have left for school already 'cause it don't sound like she's still in the house now. "Maybe it's playing up again. The water heater, I mean." Wouldn't be the first time, the damn thing's always been temperamental, has been all the years I lived here, so it ain't likely to have changed now.

"Damn it, I don't need all this shit today. I'm gonna be late as it is." He grabs his shirt from the back of the chair, pulls it on and hastily starts buttoning it. "Haven't you even made coffee this morning?" he demands, filling the coffee pot with water, glaring at it as it don't start before he hits it, sends it sliding across the counter so it knocks the cups to the floor, shattering as they bounce on the tiles below. Grabbing the pile of unopened post off of the table, he flicks through the envelopes until he finds the one he wants and rips it open. "Glory, Jean. You didn't pay the bills again, did you? I ask you to do one simple job—"

I don't hear the end of his sentence as he grabs a hold of my shoulder and shakes me roughly. Still can't drag my eyes away from the mess and back to him though.

"You even damn well listening to me, Jean? How about you get off of your ass and get down there today, sort this damn mess out."

"But I can't—"

"Why not? You managed it last quarter didn't you?" And then he starts laughing. "Except you didn't, did you? Suppose you relied on the boy to do it all for you? Well in case you ain't noticed Jean he's gone. Ain't coming back anytime soon either—if they even let him out at all. Probably getting himself in even more trouble while he's there, knowing him. do everyone a favour if they keep him locked up, I reckon."

"No—" I start to protest. It's bad enough knowing Tim's in that terrible place, that Curly's stuck for a while longer in the reformatory, without him bad mouthing either of them. Only once again he don't let me finish.

Instead he throws the letter down in front of me and pulls his wallet from his back pocket, studies the contents then chucks a few bills down as well.

"There's enough there that they'll reconnect us. Don't care how you damn well do it, just make sure you have this sorted by the time I get home, understand?"

For a moment I think Harry is going to carry on with his screaming and shouting, but he don't, he just turns on his heel and heads out the house, the whole building shaking as the door bangs shut behind him.

xxxxxx

It's close to midday already so I guess I can't put this off any longer. If I don't go now I won't have time, ain't sure when the place shuts and I don't know that I can bear another night of him yelling and bitching at me. Tell myself it isn't far, a few stops on the bus, I've done it before; used to always be backwards and forwards doing errands for Ted so I should be able to do this one little thing today. Looking around I grab my purse up from the floor, shove everything inside and head into the hall before I can change my mind, my heart pounding so loud and fast that I can hear it, feel it.

My coat is on the hook, but it feels so far away as I reach out for it, slide my arms into the worn sleeves and fasten the buttons. But I haven't got them straight, so the coat won't sit right and I have to undo them and start over again. And again until finally I get it right.

I'm almost at the front door when I find I can't go no further, find myself retreating back towards the kitchen as the panic washes over me. I try to remember the last time I did this—did anything, went anywhere— _alone_. Must be years now, what with Tim sliding in and taking control, keeping on top of stuff when I didn't, always making sure one of them was around when I needed them.

Maybe Harry is right and I am useless, pathetic. Try to take a few deep breaths and force myself to move, to take another step back down the hall when the front door swings open and I'm face to face with Angela.

"What are you doing out here, Ma?" she asks, frowning at me as she glances back out the half open door to the street, to the waiting car. "Why don't you go and sit down, you don't look so good?"

"No. I need to, I have to…" Shake myself, because it should be me asking the questions, not her. "What are you doing here? You should be in school right now."

Angela doesn't bother to answer, just rolls her eyes at me as I take a proper look at her. Too much make up, skirt too short for school, as I realise it's the same clothes she went out in last night.

"Are you only getting home now? Where have you been all this time? Who are you with? Just as well Harry didn't catch you staying out all night."

"What do you care? And he ain't my dad, he can't tell me what to do," she sneers, hands on her hips as she stands in front of me.

"Don't you speak about him like that, you know Harry looks after us all, keeps a roof over our heads."

"Yeah, right. Harry don't care about anyone but himself and you know it. Besides, I only stopped by to get something. It's lunchtime anyway," she offers as justification, even though we're both well aware she hasn't been anywhere near the school today. Instead she turns the conversation back to me and what I'm doing as she steps inside her bedroom, starts pulling clothes out of her dresser and changes her blouse before spraying some overpowering cheap perfume on her wrists. "So what are you doing anyway, Ma? You going somewhere?"

I sigh, struggle over the words as I shake my head, pull the bill from my bag and hold it out to her. "Power's cut off, need to go down there and pay this, before Harry gets home."

She sighs, grabs hold of the page as I struggle to keep it steady in my trembling hand. "You want me to go instead, Ma?"

"What about school?"

"Hell, I reckon getting this sorted is more important than that don't you? Especially if it shuts him up from complaining for a while. Besides it ain't like I'm gonna learn anything useful there is it?" she asks, tossing her hair back over her shoulders.

Find myself nodding at her as the impatient sound of the car horn makes her eyes dart towards the front of the house. "Look, Ma, I gotta go, that's my ride. Give it all to me and I'll sort it for you, I promise, save you worrying about it."

And I know I should be asking her quite where it is she's hurrying off to, if she has no intention of going to school; or who exactly she's spending her time with. But I don't. I just nod, take the easy way out and hand it all over, watch her as she rushes past me out of the door and down the path then climbs into the car next to some smiling boy I've never seen before, leans in and kisses him before the pair of them speed away.

xxxxxx

 _November 1967._

Tim stalks into the room, Angela close on his heels. She looks tired, deflated, while his expression is serious, his brow creased and mouth tight shut in a thin line as he silently leans against the counter and folds his arms. He never once takes his eyes off of his sister as she fidgets awkwardly, shifting from foot to foot like a naughty child, before standing alongside her brother, positioning herself between him the door like she might bolt back out the room again at any second.

"What's going on?" I ask, unable to take the silence any more. I can't decide which one of them I should focus my attention on so I settle instead for staring at the back of my own hands as they rest on the table top.

Angela, for once in her life, don't seem to have nothing to say—and that only makes me more anxious, 'cause there isn't usually ever a time when my headstrong outspoken daughter is lost for words over anything. Don't think there's been a time since she learnt to talk that she hasn't been willing to share what's on her mind with anyone who'll listen. Tim though, he's not his normal calm self; he looks like he's got a whole lot on his mind that he's struggling to keep to himself right now. But he still don't out and say it yet, just shakes his head and runs a hand through his hair.

"Ange has something she needs to tell you, Ma."

"Well? What is it? What's wrong?"

She sniffs, scowls as me then at her brother, before she finally replies. "Why d'you always think it has to be something bad?"

Only before I can say anything to appease her, Tim laughs. Not a laugh of amusement though, no way. "Christ, Ange. Reckon that's a pretty safe assumption don't you? Ain't like we ever get much good news round here, is it? Now are you gonna tell her or do I have to do this as well as sorting everything else, like fucking always?"

Angela turns to him, her eyes pleading with him as she stutters and stumbles over her words. "Ma, I got something I need to tell you. I ... I ..." Tears start to trickle down her cheeks as she finally looks him in the eye. "Tim, please, can't you just ..."

"Yeah, okay." He sighs, lets her rest her head against his chest and even though they haven't out and said it yet, I'm pretty sure I know what they've come here to tell me, the one thing I wish it wasn't. "Ma, it's just Angela's in a bit of a fix."

My stomach hits the floor, twisting and turning as his vague words confirm my suspicions and I find myself remembering that other day, all them years ago, that painful humiliating conversation with my own mother whirling through my mind, the way she spoke to me, looked at me, how we've barely spoken more than five times in all the years since that day more than twenty years ago.

 _"You're a disappointment to this family, Jean…"_

" ... Ma, are you listening? The guy says he'll stand by her, do the right thing. I'll handle it, arrangements and all, make sure he does—but you'll need to come sign some forms, give your permission being as she's still a kid. You reckon you can do that?"

"What? Yes, I'll sign it."

Tim glances at his watch then gives his sister one last quick hug. "Well, guess I better get going then. But I'll come pick you up first thing in the morning, both of you, get this sorted out soon as possible."

As he walks away down the hall, lets the door bang shut behind him, Angela turns and almost runs into her room, the bed springs creaking as she throws herself onto it as the house falls back into uneasy silence as the memories crowd in again.

 _"Shameful, disgusting, disgraceful…"_

 _My face burning with humiliation as my own mother stands in front of me and calls me all the bad names under the sun._

 _All the worse for her not shouting at me, just saying it like it's fact, ignoring my protests that Ted loves me, that he's promised to stand by me, that we'll be happy…._

Need to shut it out, stop it going round and around in my head and I'm reaching for the nearest pill bottle, trying to pry off the lid when I realise it's not so quiet anymore, that the air is filled with the sound of Angela's stifled sobbing.

With a deep breath I set them back down, head into her room and perch awkwardly beside her on the bed; I'm about to reach out, smooth her hair like I used to when she was little, until she lifts her head from the pillow and glares up at me.

"Suppose you've come to tell me what a fool I am too? Well don't waste your breath Ma. I already had Tim yell at me the whole damn afternoon, so it's not like you're gonna say nothing I ain't heard already, is it?"

"What? No. I ain't gonna yell at you. I just ..." My voice fades away, all the things I want to say—all my questions and all I need to tell her—sticking in my throat. I'm not sure it's the right choice for her, really. Not looking back on my own life. But then I'm not my mother, either, I won't make this any harder than necessary if her mind's already made up. Have to try to make the best of this mess for Angela's sake if nothing else, no point telling her any of that, any of the bad stuff. Too late now anyway, situation's already here, so there's no point making things any worse. "So what's this boys' name?"

"Ryan."

"And how long you been seeing him?"

"Couple months now." She smiles a little as she shifts to sit a little closer to me. "He's real nice, Ma, honest, he ... " and she carries on talking, telling me all about this boy and what he's promised her, her face lighting up as she does so, despite the circumstances she's in. Reckon it's the most conversation the pair of us have had this month, hell it's probably the most we've actually talked in years.

"And you're sure it's what you want, Angela? You really want to marry the boy, keep this baby? You ain't agreeing to this just because you think you don't have no other choices? Or to keep me—or your brother—happy?"

She sits up straighter and stares at me, snorts a little as she stifles a laugh. "No way; me getting married ain't keeping Tim happy, you should have seen him earlier talking to Ryan, he was so mad. Doubt Tim could find one good word to say about him, or me, right now. Reckon he thinks I'm nothing more than an idiot, a stupid little kid who can't be trusted to do one thing right."

"No, that ain't true, your brother would do anything to look after you. He's a good boy, Angela, loves you a lot."

"Yeah, I guess." She sniffs, wipes at her eyes a little as she settles back down on the pillows and I get to my feet.

"Well, it's getting late so why don't you try to get some sleep? You've an early start tomorrow and you need to take care of yourself now."

I'm almost out the room when her whispered words stop me in my tracks, leave me clutching at the doorframe to support myself as it feels like the ground is dropping out from beneath me. "Do you still miss him, Ma?"

"Who, Angel?" I ask, even though I know who she means, despite this being the first time in years and years she's ever mentioned him to me.

"Dad of course. I mean Tim's great and all, looks after us, but it ain't the same, is it? I miss him so much."

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A/N: Thank you to everyone who's been reading and reviewing. Sorry it's been a while but I hope you like the update, it felt about the right time to have a little more of a look at Angela, so I'd love to know what you think.


	14. Chapter 14

**CHAPTER FOURTEEN**

 _June 1956._

"Morning, darling."

Ted saunters into the kitchen, kisses me as he grabs a cup and pours himself a coffee before taking a seat at the end of the table where he starts up talking with the kids, already there and busy with their breakfasts, while I start preparing food for him. Seems like the day is actually going to start out fine—until Tim asks him _that_ question.

"So can I come out with you next evening you're working, dad?"

I find myself frozen to the spot, desperately praying that Ted gives him the response I'm hoping for, even though deep down I know it ain't likely.

"Yeah, course. In fact you can help me out again this evening."

"Sure thing," Tim replies, grinning at his father as I cross the room and place Ted's plate in front of him and start to protest.

"But Ted, I thought we agreed—"

"Not now," he interrupts, all three of the children falling silent as they watch us. Guess this day isn't gonna be such a good one after all.

But despite knowing it won't get me anywhere I still carry on trying to change his mind. "No, you promised you wouldn't keep doing this. He's only nine still."

"I ain't a baby, Ma," Tim mutters under his breath as he glares across at me.

Ted laughs, as he pushes his untouched plate away and gets to his feet. But he ain't smiling no more as he turns to me while barking out an order to the kids. "You all go to your rooms now, me and your Ma need to have a talk."

As we stand there staring at each other and waiting for them to leave, I fold my arms, not prepared to let this lie for once. I know it'll end the same as always, that he'll do whatever he chooses anyway - but I need to know what's going on, what's so important that he wants to involve our son. "Where're you planning on taking him this time?" I ask, remembering them coming home so late the last time. "Actually doing a job, or are you just gonna end up fighting and hanging around some dive bar again?"

"I got a couple of easy jobs lined up I need to do this evening. He can come along for the ride, might learn something useful."

"What's going on, Ted? Why are you doing this again? It's what, the second time already this month you've dragged him out with you but it ain't right, he's still only a child."

Ted laughs. "Yeah? He don't need to be up early, ain't like he's got school in the morning, is it? Not like going there's gonna help him get anywhere in life anyway. It's important that the boy learns how things really work around here, how to handle himself."

"What? By helping you do Roy Evans' dirty work?" I exclaim, my voice a little louder than I anticipate. "Is that what you want him to be when he grows up, some criminal like him?"

"Some criminal like me you mean?" he sneers as he stares at me, until I can't take it no more and have to look away.

"No. you know that's not what I meant. I'm sorry." I try to smile at him, fail miserably as my doubts all run through my mind. "But what if you get caught up in any trouble again? Tim sure as hell don't need to see that again. Please don't take him out with you," I plead.

"Jean, quit worrying over nothing will you? I don't hear you complaining about where I get my money when we're all up to date on the bills or we've got cash to spare to spend on new clothes and shoes for the three of them instead of you trying to make do with goodwill cast offs." He slips his arms around my waist, pulls me to him, smiles at me. That confident, arrogant smile that's never far from the surface when he knows he's won. "Just be happy for once that we're doing okay, that we ain't got to struggle for a change. Besides you should be pleased, you're always saying I don't spend enough time with the kids."

"Yeah, okay. I'm sorry." I want to tell him that if he let me keep that job then we wouldn't need him to be doing this, all the staying out to god knows when half the week and risking getting locked up again for a few lousy extra bucks. But I know it'll be pointless, that he won't be interested in hearing it; that to him the conversation is over and his mind is already on other things.

He leans in, kisses my cheek as he glances at his watch then snatches up his cup and gulps down the last of his coffee. "It'll be fine; do the boy good to grow up a bit, learn about responsibility. Now I better get going before I'm late."

"But what about your breakfast?"

"I'll grab something on my way." And with that he's already in the hall, snatching up his jacket and car keys as he heads for the front door without a second glance back.

xxxxxx

"Ma, I'm bored playing in the yard, can I go to the park?" Curly begs, pulling on my skirt as I carry on chopping vegetables, preparing the dinner.

Glancing up at the clock, I nod at him. "Okay, you got half an hour. But only if your brother goes with you."

Curly runs off out the room, only to return a couple minutes later, his face clouded with a frown. "Tim won't come with me."

"Why not?"

Curly shrugs at me so I decide to settle this, call my oldest boy but don't get no response, find him sat out on the front step.

"Tim? Why won't you take your brother to the park?"

He don't look at me, just carries on watching the road, the cars passing by. "I'm waiting on dad."

I purse my lips, reminded of our disagreement this morning, that feeling I can't shake that this isn't right, that Ted shouldn't keep dragging our son into all this shady business he's involved in.

"He won't be home for a while yet. And you won't be going out anywhere with him until after dinner so you got time to do this. You've been out with your friends all day long so the least you can do is take care of your brother for a few minutes when I ask you to. Now off you both go. And take Angela as well. No arguments."

He scowls at me, but eventually gets to his feet then shoves his hands in his pockets as he kicks a loose stone across the path. "Tell her to hurry up, then."

xxxxxx

Can't be but ten minutes later that there's a knock at the door. Sighing, I wipe my hands on my apron, wonder who on earth it can be. Hope to hell it's not the cops again. Turns out to be some guy I don't recognise, standing there awkwardly on the front step, dressed in a cheap looking suit. From the look of him I figure he must be here trying to sell something. Not that he'll have much luck around here, no one in this neighbourhood's got any spare cash for knives or books or whatever 'must-have' thing he's gonna try to talk me into buying.

"Sorry, we ain't interested," I mumble, about to shut the door.

"No, wait. Mrs Shepard?"

"Who wants to know?" I ask.

Looking past him I spot the truck, the name of the lumber yard painted on the door and my stomach lurches. Guess Ted must be in some kind of trouble after all if there's someone from his work here. God, maybe he's skipped out of work... or even worse, had the cops turn up there. Maybe he's been arrested again. I feel myself start to blush, my cheeks burning as this stranger stares at me. Only as I look back I realise he seems about as uncomfortable as me and my embarrassment turns to dread.

"Please? Can I come in a minute?" He wipes the back of his hand across his forehead, his face pale. "It's important; it's about your husband."

Nodding I turn and walk to the sitting room, gesture for him to sit in the armchair as I lower myself onto the couch. Suppose Ted really is in some kind of trouble. Seems like everything is happening real slow—although maybe not slow enough, because I'm pretty sure I don't want to hear whatever it is he's come to tell me, 'cause I don't believe it's gonna be anything good.

He's sitting there, staring at the floor as he swallows and wipes at his brow again, this time pulling a handkerchief from his pocket. "I'm Roy Underwood, I run the place up there. Your husband, Ted…"

His voice trails away again as he catches my eye.

"What's happened? What's he done now, Mr Underwood?" I whisper, his unease spreading to me as I push my hands deeper into my apron pockets, dig my nails into my palms as I try to ignore the fear spreading through me as he stumbles over his words, stopping and starting, until finally he forces out the news he's come here to share with me.

"No, he hasn't done anything, he's not in any trouble... Just, there was an accident... earlier this afternoon. I'm really sorry, Mrs Shepard, but your husband…"

I don't really hear any more of what he's saying; don't really matter what he's telling me, how or why it happened anyhow. 'Cause me knowing how it all went down won't change anything, and sure as hell ain't going to bring Ted back, make my family whole again. Or change the fact that the last conversation I ever had with my husband was a stupid disagreement over something that seems so unimportant now.

And then he suddenly stops talking, his eyes wide as he stares at the doorway.

Glancing up, I see Tim there, wonder how much he's heard. He must have seen the truck pull up from the park down the corner of the block; should have known he would have come back, that he'd need to find out what was going on if it might involve his father in some way. I call out to him at the same time as the guy starts up speaking.

"Son, wait—" his words trailing away as Tim bolts back out the front door while the tears stream down my face and I bury my head in my hands. "Is there anyone I can call for you, Mrs Shepard? Family, friends? A neighbour maybe?"

xxxxxx

The next few days pass in a blur. People who I don't barely know coming and going; strangers in and out the house, telling me things and asking me questions, making arrangements I don't want to have to think about. And it seems today won't be no different as there's a harsh knock at the door.

Maybe if I ignore it, they'll leave. Ain't like I'm exactly ready to see anyone anyway, sitting in my dressing gown still, no clue as to what the time is or how long I've been here.

But the knocking doesn't stop, if anything it gets louder.

Taking a deep breath, I wipe at my sore eyes and push myself up out of my chair. Why don't people understand that I want to be left alone? Only as I get to my feet I realise I don't have to deal with it after all. The door creaks as Tim opens it, his voice calm as he answers what sounds suspiciously like that busybody old woman who lives opposite us. Just what I don't need right now, another visit from someone who wouldn't have given me the time of day in the street a week ago, but who apparently wants to help me all of a sudden. Be nosy and poke about in my business more like, all fake concern and sympathy when all she wants is some bit of gossip she can pass on to all her friends.

"Thank you for this, but Ma ain't up to visitors right now. I'll let her know you called by though."

I can't make out her muffled reply, but apparently he ain't having none of it, his reply firm, sounds so much older than his years.

"No, really, it's fine, she don't want to see anyone right now."

Find myself almost smiling as I hear the door click shut again followed by Tim's soft footsteps on the floorboards as he enters the kitchen by himself, places a casserole dish on the counter.

"It's alright, Ma. I got rid of her for you. You hungry? Want me to warm this up now?"

I shrug at him as he stands there. "Not really, but you all should eat something."

"Okay." He busies himself with lighting the oven, before he turns back to me, watches me for a few minutes before he finally speaks. "You need anything else, Ma?" he asks as he refills my glass with water, pushes it in front of me.

Manage to shake my head as Curly and Angela's voice get louder and louder, their bickering echoing through the house as they head down the hall to the kitchen and the pair of them are still moaning and whining at each other as they appear behind Tim. I can't take it, don't want to hear them; need it to be quiet, for them to behave. 'Cause if everything seems okay then I can imagine Ted is alright too, can convince myself that maybe he's only gone away again for a little while. Pretend that one day soon he'll walk back through the door with a smile on his face and some lame explanation of where he's been. Because it ain't fair, he can't really be gone forever.

"Be quiet, both of you," I snap, but they take no notice, both of them talking over each other as they each blame the other for whatever they are fighting about. "Shut up!" I yell, and I sink back into my seat, still screaming and shouting at the pair of them, tears running down my face as the pair of them fall into a stunned silence. Angela is crying now too as she clings to Tim while Curly is close to tears too, his bottom lip trembling as he looks at me like he don't know me, backing up into Tim as I try to pull myself together and reach out for him.

Tim whispers something to Curly then ruffles Angela's hair before he turns back to me. "Ma? Why don't you go lie down for a bit?"

"But I should be..." My voice fades away, as my tears start up again so I'm unable to speak, to even focus on the three of them, even though they need me so badly to be strong for them.

"It's alright, I'll look after them. We'll be fine, I promise."

"Yeah, okay," I whisper as I get to my feet and let him lead me down the hall. I know this is all backwards, that I should be the one comforting them, be staying strong for my children.

But I can't.

Not yet.

And Tim sounds so sure of himself, like he can cope with anything right now. Tell myself that it's alright to let him help; that it's only for one more day—that tomorrow I'll do a better job, be able to handle this, be there for them all.

THE END

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A/N: I'd just like to say a huge thank you to anyone who's read, reviewed, followed or favourited this story. I hope you like this final chapter and I'd love to hear what you think of it - and the story as a whole now it's complete.

Thanks again to everyone who's stuck with this, I really appreciate all of your interest and support :)


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